#starry writing

[the-galactic-catt]

INTRODUCTION POST !!! ☆☆☆

i'm finally making one of these yayy

i don't want it to take too much space, so you'll find the info you need under the cut:

about me

about the blog

tags i use

socials

NOTE: many of these sections will be getting updated, so make sure to re-read them every now and then in case i add any new rules or notes

☆ ABOUT ME

you can call me star

i am 18 (yippee. 🙂🔫)

my preferred pronouns are he/him and she/her, but i'm okay with any

aroace bigender mf who honestly couldn't care less about labels, i just use them for others' sake

greek af babyyy 🇬🇷🇬🇷🇬🇷

i'm autistic and i may also have ocd, though i am not diagnosed on that so take it with a grain of salt. i also definitely have anxiety (not diagnosed either, but i am 100% certain on this) so if we are mutuals and i don't interact with you much, that's why

i'll soon be studying to become a theatre major, so that's fun

i like to draw and write, and i want to one day publish my own books and comics

i love my ocs a little too much (i am NOT normal about them)

i am in way too many fandoms to count, but the ones i am currently posting about are: στο παρά πέντε, hetalia, sky: children of the light, bungo stray dogs, afk journey, the sonic movies

i consider myself a professional hater, so rant posts are not uncommon from me

cheese is the best food and you can't fight me on this, you WILL lose 🧀🧀🧀

my friends call me rat sometimes. i wonder why

☆ ABOUT THE BLOG

what you'll find here:

cringey art and writing

rants about things that don't really matter

cool awesome-sauce pictures, usually cats

crackships, rarepairs and multishipping nonsense

oc content (if i feel like it)

greekposting

some rules:

don't like, don't interact. if i or my content bothers you, feel free to block me. harassment is NOT tolerated here

please don't use any sexual language when talking to me or reblogging my stuff unless i have already used such language in the context you are replying

do not sexualise my ocs, even if they are adults

if you want to request for something (art, headcanons etc) please be specific on what you want me to share. the more details, the better

☆ TAGS I USE

star's art — my art, including fanart

star's writing — my writing, including exclusive content about it

star answers — all the questions i have answered

galactic migraines — posts about things that make me angry

starry nights — thoughts and ideas i get when i can't sleep

star rambles — stuff that i just happen to fixate on in the moment, sometimes random, sometimes interesting

star won't shut up — just me screaming into the void

galactic collection — things i find cool that i cannot save on my devices so i just keep them organised in a tag

star irl — news and stuff about me

star's babies — art, writing and rambles specifically about my ocs ! anything you ask about them is also included

galactic cats — my fellow comrades (cat pictures)

out of comets — posts without context

☆ SOCIALS:

youtube

archive of our own

bluesky

tiktok

THAT'S ALL FOLKS ! ☆☆☆

[starrykitty013]

Hi! if you have the time, can you give us some good old fashioned Levi, Strange, Wong and Peter scraps? tysm! hope you're having a good day <33

Sorry for the late reply, break has been kinda hectic.

I am having a pretty good day, I start classes tomorrow (well technically they started today but I don’t have class on Monday this semester which is kinda epic) so I wanted to get my ask box cleared.

Also idk if you meant Loki instead of Levi, if it wasn’t a mistype I’m sorry, but either way this little blurb is more between doctor strange and Peter with a little Wong and Loki.

It takes place after No Way Home and Multiverse of Madness, so yea, idk this is unedited so I’m sorry for any typos but honestly I kinda had fun writing this, I’m surprised I could come up with a Drabble concept without a prompt but ig I felt inspired.

Anyway, sorry for rambling. Here is the Drabble.

Enjoy!

___________________________________________

“Okay, I know how this looks but you have to hear me out before you get mad.”

“I’m very tempted not to listen.” Doctor Strange said, looking completely bemused at the decievingly small child in the red onsie that was holding up a clearly drunk slim demigod that had showed up to his doorstep. He had half a mind to slam the door, but honestly, he was kind of curious and it was a slow day at the sanctum anyway. Spiderman always happened to bring a tad bit of fun wherever he went, but he also tended to bring trouble too - despite the kid having the inability to ask for help unless it was offered, don’t get Strange wrong, Spiderman worked well with others but it wasn’t his default mode; he always had to be prompted into doing so , but then again so did the rest of the hero community. Looks like he decided to cut out the middle man and go straight to the trouble

“Come on, isn’t like part of your code to give people shelter or something.” The kid tried to convince.

“That’s nuns.” He said blandly.

“Really?” the kid Asked innocently Stephan actually wasn’t quite sure about that, he wasn’t very religious.

“Wong won’t be pleased.” Cause inviting the god of mischief \, who already had a spotty track record of steal powerful artifacts, into a sanctum full of forbidden and protected magic did not sound like a good idea on any day, but if said god was drunk. Yeah, Wong would be mad.

But it might be fun.

“How did you even find him like this?” Spiderman tended to find himself in a lot of strange situations, none of which had any sort of protocol. Then again, Spiderman wasn’t really known for following any sort of rules given to him. A trait that had Stephan a little envious at sometimes, because despite his rigid discipline that is required to learn and maintain the mystic arts, Spiderman is still somehow more morally stable in most regards while having virtually no discipline.

The boy shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno. I just found him outside the old Stark tower like this when I went to investigate a like minor explosion? Which, isn’t crazy that we’ve gotten so used to people falling out of the sky as a society, that no one even mentions it. Like-“ Stephan held up a hand to stop the ramble while they weren’t too deep - though the kid did make a good point - but he knew Spiderman could ramble on for hours if given the chance.

“Why can’t you just take him to your place?” Stephan asked with a raised brow. At that Spidey went a tad stiff in the shoulder before purposefully relaxing. It was odd, that he didn’t know Spiderman’s identity, they had literally saved the universe together and potentially the multi-verse, although for some reason parts of Stephan’s memories from that event were a little hazy. But one thing is for sure, Spiderman knew more than he was letting on. Despite his iron clad secrecy, the kid was incredibly bad at lying. Stephan has tried to confront him, somehow the conversation always got changed. He stopped because it was fruitless. The kid may be bad at lying but goddamn does he have tight lips.

“My landlord probably wouldn’t like that and besides,” Spiderman gestured to the expanse of the sanctum at whole “You were closer and I think you can handle any…mishaps? God that word makes me sound old. “ Never mind that Stephan used that word quite frequently, especially when describing America’s training. Actually in regards to America’s training, Wong has started using it quite frequently too. Maybe she and Spidey could get along. He banished the though because Teen heroes are literally trouble magnets wherever they go, putting two together would probably set off some kind of natural disaster that would devastate half the world and people were still recovering from the snap, without even taking into regard the blip and seriously who was in charge of naming that. “Anyway, yeah you can handle any magical mishaps that may occur.”

“Fine.” The Doctor relented. Better to keep the threat secure rather than let it wonder off with one of the most notorious trouble attracting teens in the universe. He opened the door more to invite them in. Spiderman just stood their awkwardly. “Well?” Stephan raised a brow and Spidey shifted his feet slightly.

“Actually, uhm, I can’t stay. Sorry, I don’t mean to dump this on you. But you probably know how to contact Thor and stuff so maybe you could call him. I’m sorry I really have to go.” And the kid franticly pushed the demigod toward Stephan who barely had time to react as a body drunkly stumbled towards him.

“How dare you, do you know who I am?” Loki exclaimed in a slurred tone.

“What the hell kid?” Stephan exclaimed but when he turned to look back at the door, Spiderman was gone.

“Where did the spider child go? He has vanished, like a witch.” The god demanded. Stephan ignored him as he furrowed his brow in the direction of the now empty doorway. Something was really off about that boy. But he guesses if he had been in the hero game as long as Spiderman has, and are still a kid, he would have some odd quirks too. But Spiderman operated solo, and he knows that he doesn’t really work or answer to anybody. Still, with all his secrets, being that socially isolated from your peers must be stunting to some sort of mental development. Sure, he’s seen Spidey work with other heroes occasionally and more often work with other vigilantes, but no one his own age, cause seriously if that kid is older than 19 Stephan will voluntarily do maintenance for the mirror dimension for a whole year. Besides, he doesn’t think people like Deadpool are the best influences to hangout with, but the kid has a good head on his shoulders so Stephan isn’t too worried about him becoming that type of menace.

And that’s another thing: since when did he care about that kid. Sure they’ve fought together, they’ve saved countless universes together, but Stephan doesn’t even know what the kid’s name is. So why does he care about his wellbeing this much? It’s like, subconscious. Stephan doesn’t really like that thought.

He heard a sigh from behind him and turned to look at Wong, who just looked done as he took in the scene. Oh, the joys of being Sorcere Supreme. When you clean up one fuck up another shows up at your doorstep. Yeah, Strange didn’t miss that part of the job, that’s for sure.

“I’ll contact New Asgard.” He sighed and Doctor Strange took that as his opportunity to shove Loki off him.

“You insolent wench, I will-“

Stephan just walked away.

Maybe the kid could use a few friends his own age. Even if it might cause the end of the world.

Maybe, just maybe, it would be a little worth it.

[last-starry-sky]

let it out pt. 1 - 141xreader

(aka - the unhinged fivesome fic i've had cooking for ages and decided to finish for my stupid mental health)

[NSFW - MIND THE WARNINGS - MDNI: 4.9k, alcohol/drinking mention, implied past misogyny, smoking mention, everything from here on is dub-con (this is your only warning): kissing, nipple-play, biting, dry humping, mmmf foursome (sorry, someone gets left out in this part 😔), also, possibly the worst cliffhanger i've ever left a chapter on.]

You knew you should have locked the door.

“What in the hell’s gotten into you?” Soap shouted, more drunk than loud, blowing right through the door. Didn’t even bother to knock. 

Not that it mattered. The room was still mostly empty, with only your duffel thrown in the corner to mark it as any different from the hundreds of others. If you were lucky, you would all be leaving again in a few hours, and this ugly, anonymous, concrete box of a base in the middle-of-nowhere would be nothing but a hazy memory. One in a long string of others that would soon fade back into nothing. A boring footnote at the end of a frustrating mission.

You sighed as you rolled to face him. You had been staring at the ceiling on your shitty little bed, arms crossed and still fully clothed, minus your boots. Those you’d kicked off once you’d returned to “your” room, letting them crash into the corner not caring what they took with them. You’d thrown yourself down onto the thin mattress with a huff, intent on stewing in your anger for the rest of the night. Maybe in the morning you would be able to face your “teammates” with more than a forced smile. 

Soap stood over you, hands on his hips, dark eyebrows pushing a thick crease into the center of his forehead. His cheeks were still slightly blushed from the first few rounds of celebratory, post-mission drinks with the team. The ones you had just skipped out on. 

What should have been a relaxing evening to bond with your teammates had felt like a joke. You had quietly sat at the table with the four other men, sipping your beer while they laughed and animatedly told stories. Soap had even thrown his arm around you more than once, usually at the point his story where you had tried to do something. Tried.

“Can’t leave out the part with Medic!” he had said, “She’s the only reason any ov’ us made it out in one piece!” 

You’d answered his friendliness with a terse, cold smile. It’s like he had gone on a completely different mission from you. You’d made an excuse to visit the bathroom while Price and Gaz had gone out for a smoke, making a break for your room.  

“Nothing,” you lied, jaw tight. The short nails digging into your skin as you turned away. “I’m fine. Just don’t feel like drinks tonight.”

“Ah, you’re a shit liar, Medic,” he said, a playful edge to his harsh tone, as he pointed at you. He moved to the side of your bed, his blue eyes able to keep boring down into you. 

You chose ignore him, rolling over to your back to stare at the ceiling again. Fuck him. He didn’t outrank you. He let out a frustrated huff and sat down on your bed. The frame creaked loudly as he did, rolling you suddenly against as his weight dipped the mattress. 

“Come on, Medic. Talk t’ me,” he pleaded, his voice low and soft. The crease in his forehead remained. “You’re not acting like yourself. What’s wrong?” 

“Don’t know, Soap,” you said letting out a breath as you continued staring at the water marks in the tiles above you. Anything to keep your eyes from wandering to his face. Those sad, puppy-dog eyes of his would have cracked your resolve instantly and you knew it. “Just don’t understand why I was even needed on that mission.”

His concerned face came into view as he leaned over you. 

“The fuck you mean by that?”

You sat up and backed away, averting your gaze pointedly away from him as you pulled your knees to your chest. You didn’t want the image of him hovering over you to get too comfortable in your head. Thankfully, he moved to let you sit up. You were over your little pity party anyway. You were ready to talk like an adult. 

“Don’t act stupid, Soap,” you said softly with just a little bit of petulance left in your tone. “All four of you did the same thing all mission.” 

While he continued to stare at you: open mouthed and confused, you moved, throwing your legs over the side of the bed to sit at his side. You tried to put some distance between the two of you, but you had scant room left as he was already in the middle of your tiny mattress. It forced you to press your knees and thighs to his. You could feel his warmth bleed through his jeans. How that man could run so warm was a medical mystery, one that made you shiver. 

“What?” he asked, turning to you with eyebrows raised, all the more concerned. “Wha’d we do?” 

You rolled your eyes and shot an exasperated look his way. How could he be so dense? Did he not even realize how the whole team had been treating you for the past month? 

“What did you do?” you answered him mockingly. “You spent the whole mission making me feel useless! Anytime any of you got injured you were pushing me away! Me!” you said pointing at your chest. “I’m a medic, Soap! Your medic. That’s the whole reason I’m here! I’ve been doing this job for years! I’ve been on multiple special forces teams before this. What more do I have to do to prove to you I can do my job?” 

Soap was silent, which concerned you. He stared down at his hands between his legs. You could feel he was holding something back, something he didn’t want to tell you. A tear rolled down your cheek. You had a feeling you knew what the root of the problem was.  

“Is it . . . is it because I’m a woman? Is that why?” you asked, wiping at your eyes. It was painful to even say it. You’d faced this before, you weren’t stupid. Some, no, scratch that most, teams were a boys only club, and you just had to grit your teeth through it until you were reassigned. “You know, if you want a man-”

“No!” he yelled, interrupted you, grabbing for your hand as you wiped away your tears. You snatched it out of his involuntarily. 

“Then what is it?” you snapped back, still in no mood to dick around. If you needed to talk to Price and get your bag packed tonight, then so be it. You’d rather take care of this sooner than later. 

Soap wrapped his arms around you, surprising you. He held you to his chest for a moment, running his hands down your back. You tried to push yourself away, shoving at his unyielding stomach and squeaking out his name against his chest, all to no avail. He was just too strong. 

“Calm down, hen. Calm down. Don’t fight me,” he said softly in your ear. “Give me a chance to speak m’ piece, hear?” 

You complied with a groan, ceasing your struggle. This wasn’t professional, obviously, but you couldn’t find a reason to fight it anymore. You let him hold you for a moment, the constant thrum of his heart pounding in your ear. He was so warm too. You wished you could give in, just melt into the surrounding heat of his arms and chest. You knew it was just because you were stressed and hadn’t been touched in, fuck, it had to be months now, but still. 

“You’re right. Sorry. Sorry we treated you like that,” he confessed. 

His hands slid over your shoulders, releasing you from most of his steely grip. You didn’t try to wrench away this time, but you did rest your hands on his chest. The feel of his pectoral muscles, even though they were softened by the cotton of his shirt, made you tremble. This was terribly dangerous territory to be treading in. 

“Didn’t mean to. Honest. We’re all just . . .” he trailed off, letting his head cock to the side as he flexed his hands on your upper arms.

You pulled away, just enough to look up at his face. You didn’t want him to hide, not now. You were teammates after-all. You actually wanted to stay teammates for once, not get bounced from team to team, from one group of assholes to another every six months. The wear of never being able to put down roots, let alone connect to the humans you were keeping alive was starting to fray your psyche. Some days you felt like little more than a sentient med-bag. 

With the 141 though, it felt different. You didn’t want to lose that. You’ve been together through the standard life-and-death situations and made it out alive. You’d slept side by side in the gravel, shared cold MRE’s in the dark, even tended to each other’s wounds when they’d let you. There was no need for him to hide the truth from you. Besides, you’d been weak for Soap from the moment you met but managed to keep it professional, barely. You’re pretty sure the cocky bastard knows it too. As much as you wanted him, you valued your job and position over any selfish need for sexual fulfillment. 

“We’re scared shitless ‘a losing you,” he continued with a pained sigh, leaning in to press his lips to your eyebrow, strong, calloused hand gripping your bicep. 

Oh. His words made your brain flat-line. Well, you thought. This was . . . new? A team that actually cared about you?

His hand cupped your jaw; warm, rough fingers smoothing over your cheek and neck. You closed your eyes and bit your lip, partly from pleasure, partly to suppress any embarrassing noises. There was no way was this happening. 

“We all are,” he continued, warm breath fanning across your face. “Know you can handle yourself. It’s just . . . anytime it gets hot and we start getting hit, something in me . . . all of us . . . just wants to protect you.”

You smiled, lip falling out of the grip of your teeth. No one had ever said something so caring to you before, least of all a fellow soldier. 

“That’s a dumb fucking reason, Soap,” you said weakly back to him. 

You thumped a fist on his chest once, trying to cover your wavering voice and vulnerability with sarcasm. You wished he would take the bait like others had in the past, but he didn’t. He sat there in silence, still holding your face, waiting for you. You sighed as he pressed his hand to the small of your back. 

“Do you know how stressed out you guys made me?” you finally let out. Tears piqued in the corner of your eyes again, hazing your vision. “Like everyday? Your lives are in my hands and you wouldn’t-”

“I know,” he interrupted you with a groan, hand moving up your back to stroke at your neck. You sighed, leaning into his hand as he massaged you. “‘s not right. I’ll talk to the guys later about it, if you want. Doan think we don’t want you, because we do. Honest.” 

He looked down at you with those blue eyes, practically glowing with emotion, and . . . how can you refute him when you can read him so plainly? His eyes spoke sadness through that stare in a way that words failed. There was also something darker there: a drunken, feral hunger that’s blowing his pupils wide as he cradled your head. It’s eating those precious blue irises until there’s nothing left but a dark pit of lust. Your hand clutched tighter on his shirt, pulling the collar enough to reveal his collarbone. It’s a pit you’re both precipitously close to falling over.  

“I would . . . appreciate that,” you sighed as his thumb stroked over your cheek. 

You tried to keep your eyes on the scar on his chin, but it only drew you to his lips and that delicious dark stubble. He had been back on base for less than a day, but he still hadn’t shaved post-mission. You wondered if he had taken your half-joking comment about how men are more attractive with facial hair to heart. You broke your eyes away, not wanting to countenance that line of thought. At least not while he was still tenderly cradling your face. 

“Would rather be there to say it myself, though” you continued airily. 

Soap drew his fingers out over your face, his thumb grazing over your bottom lip. You let your eyes fall shut again despite yourself. You felt his hoppy breath waft over your face as he tightened his grip on the back of your neck. 

“Get it all out . . . in front of everyone,” you said, finishing your thought with a struggle.

“Yeah,” he said, his nose nudging yours. “Let it out.”

Before you can stop him - fuck, like you wanted to stop him now - he pulled you into his lap, slotting his mouth over yours for a kiss. There’s no warning. No gentleness or confessions. Shit like that fell fast to the wayside in the military. It had made you sad at first, the loss of intimacy inherent in building a romantic relationship, but fuck it. You need this. You give into his lead completely: the desperate way he forced himself into your mouth, all passion, teeth and tongue. You balled both your hands in his shirt and hold on for dear life.

He hummed, pleased with himself, as he broke away to kiss down your neck. You’re no better though. You’re moaning right along with him, telegraphing loud and clear how well he’s breaking you down, how much you want him. He doesn’t waste time as he sucks hickies onto your throat, rucking up your shirt to paw at your bra at the same time. Alone time is another one of those luxuries the military makes you ration: never knowing when someone will burst in the door to call you away. He’s obviously hungry to get your tits out and he’s not letting a second go to waste. 

“Thought I’d find you here,” a gruff voice said flatly behind you. 

Both you and Soap looked up in shock at the large, masked, black-clad figure filling your doorway. You didn’t even hear the door open. Wait, fuck, had Soap left it open this whole time? You tried to wriggle away, pushing at Soap’s shoulder, not wanting your Lieutenant of all people to see you like this: shirt half off, face flushed with fresh, wet bites coloring your neck. Soap held on to you though, his full strength holding you to his body as you tried to kick away. He simply tucked back into your neck, continuing to blindly unclasp your bra. 

“Medic’s stressed, LT. Wanna help?” Soap mumbled playfully, giving up on getting under your bra, switching instead to pulling your shirt up off your chest. 

Soap is putting you on display for your superior officer: a present with the wrapping peeled off the corner, just waiting to be torn in to, tempting the other man to join. Your eyes are wide, pleading silently with Ghost to take even the smallest amount of mercy on you. Your brain is racing to concoct some plausible story to get both you and Soap out of this mess with your jobs and it’s not looking good. 

Ghost continued to lean against the wall, arms crossed across that broad chest, masked face passively observing you and Soap without a hint of emotion. Soap managed to peel your shirt off of your chest, forcing your arms off of him for a moment to push it up. It’s Ghost, however, that grabs it from behind, guiding it up off your arms, tossing it behind him. It sends a shiver up your spine how silent he is. You didn’t hear him approach, but you can feel energy radiating off him as he stands behind you. 

Soap does away with your bra with those practiced, nimble hands of his once it’s exposed. Once you’re fully bare, he’s pushing you off his lap to kneel on the floor in front of you. You stare down at him as he kisses his way across your chest, his hands stroking up and down your ribs while pressing your breasts together at their peak, mostly so that you aren't forced to face Ghost in this state. A gasp catches in your throat as Soap finds his prize. He sucks a nipple into his mouth and you can’t help but screw your eyes shut and let out a high-pitched whine. You’re silently glad it wasn’t his name. 

You feel Ghost’s gloved hand scrape along the back of your neck: thumb on your spine, long fingers curled around your artery. Your skin prickles underneath it.

“Gotta plan, Johnny?” Ghost asks him, deep voice rumbling gravel-rough as he tests his fingers against your skin and you whimper. You know he’s strong. Know he can snap necks with those hands. You’ve seen it. Fuck if it isn’t making your pussy clench at how gentle he is, how rough he could be. 

“Fuck, LT. Stayin’ right here,” He says breathlessly, breaking away only long enough to answer your superior. 

Soap cups a breast in each hand, gently squeezing as he moves to lay an open mouthed kiss on your sternum. He tweaks your wet nipple with a moan, absorbed already in his own pleasure. Soap always was too loud. Too vocal. 

“Ain’t she fuckin’ beautiful, Ghost? Doan be shy. Join in.”

Ghost’s fingers flex on the back of your neck again, breaking your stare away from Soap as he works kisses over to your other breast. You weakly wrap your arms around Soap’s shoulders, finding comfort in holding him, something solid in this tumult you’ve been thrown into. He’s at least obvious with what he wants. Ghost is a variable, an unknown. You still aren’t sure what he’s going to do even as he closes his fingers deliciously around your throat; weak moans falling from your mouth. 

He could easily turn on his heel and have the both of you court marshaled by morning. You know it. You know he could read the fear in your eyes when you first saw him. He’s seen it before. It’s life and death. The fear of whatever decision he makes, it may change both Soap and your lives forever. His eyes are as dark and unreadable as Soap’s are bright and expressive. The flex of his gloved fingers on your neck and the subtle shift of his hips in his tac-pants makes you bite your lip. A swipe of his thumb over your lip, pulling it out from your teeth, tells you his decision without a word. 

That’s when Soap finally locked his lips around your other nipple. He sucked hard, teeth scraping over the sensitive bud. Ghost’s hands kept your head locked, eyes boring down into you, standing over you, keeping you beneath him, powerless. You closed your eyes, locked your fingers into Soap’s mohawk and moaned, throwing your head back as you let it out. 

Ghost let go of your head suddenly. He walked in awkwardly large steps around Soap as he rounded your bed. 

“Keep that mouth quiet then,” he said, an order to himself. “Can’t have the whole base showin’ up.”

You felt the mattress sink behind you a moment later, followed by Ghost snaking his arms around you. One hand on your stomach, one on your jaw, locking you in place. You shuddered, leaning into the cold, rough texture of the gloves on his hands. You could feel the buttons on his shirt as his chest pushed flush to your back. 

Fuck, he’s so big. So strong, you thought. Not that you had much time for that. The hand on your stomach left to pull up the bottom of his mask before quickly falling back in place, his other hand tilting your head back to slot his mouth over yours.

It sent your mind into another galaxy. This shouldn’t be happening, your closest teammates: Soap and Ghost, both pawing over your body, touching, kissing, pleasing you. You were all beyond unprofessional at this point. Never mind how much you’ve been fantasizing about this, about all of them. 

It had been a tortuous downward spiral ever since you swore you would be right behind them, ready at a moment's notice to put them back together, to put your own body on the line to save them. That was your promise, your personal mission: to get them home alive. You wondered if that was what triggered this protective attitude of theirs. Not that the in’s and out’s of how you all ended up like this really mattered. The reality of the situation was: If Price ever found out you were all dead.

Soap’s hands brace on both of your thighs as he begins to kiss down your torso, a new goal in mind. 

Ghost, your god damn lieutenant, of all people, always so cold and calculating. You felt he should have been the last person listening to Soap’s crazy ideas to crawl into your bed. He shouldn’t be holding you like a china doll, petting your face as he peppers gentle, unsure, little kisses over your lips. You shouldn’t be demurely shying away from the skin he’s revealing to you, but here you are. You lay your hand over his on your hip and he breaths a silent groan across your mouth. He just stays like that for a moment, holding and listening to you as Soap lays messy kisses south of your navel, tickling you with his head and facial hair. 

“Ghost,” you moan, gripping his gloved hand, hoping it goads him into what you want: kissing you deeper, as Soap pops open the fly of your pants.

It does. He obliges immediately, pushing himself into your mouth, swirling your tongue with his. Your cry covers his whine. It all feels too good, too much. The rain breaking loose over the parched desert soil. It didn’t matter anymore, the consequences. You just wanted this. You were ready to take as much as they could give until the flood swept you away. 

“Woah,” a familiar voice called from the door. 

Fuck. You know that voice. Gaz. 

Ghost’s hand on your jaw kept you from breaking away. He wasn’t done with you yet. You feel Soap turn away from working your pants off. The door creaks partially shut behind Gaz as he enters, sticky bottoms of his boots squeaking against the clean floor. 

“Came to check on Medic,” he continued, far too cool and collected. “See if she’s okay. Didn’t, ah. Didn’t expect this.” 

He isn’t backpedaling out of your room. He isn’t apologizing or telling the other men to break it up. Fuck, he’s walking farther in.

“Coam on in mate,” Soap said to Gaz cheerily, his accent slurring thick. “Workin’ on cheerin’ her up right now. Room ‘nough for all of us,”

Soap looked up at you, shit eating grin plastered across his face, as Ghost finally broke your kiss. He pulled down your zipper: hands slowly pushing away the fabric at your waist, peeling your fly open to reveal your underwear. 

You heard Gaz whistle as he walked up to the bed, just the same as Ghost had. Gaz hummed as he approached the three of you, stopping to observe like you were a blushing nude in a piece of art and not a human being. If Soap had been emotional in his approach, and Ghost had been careful, Gaz was hungry. He wasn’t interested in wasting time asking questions. He was here, this was happening, and that was all that mattered. 

“Where you want me?” he asked, eye flicking between Ghost and Soap. 

“Stayin’ right here, sergeant,” Ghost said against your lips, absently commanding the man. It should have concerned you how easily they talked about you like you weren’t even there.

“Can’t even steal a peck?” he said cheekily, leaning down so that the brim of his blue hat tickled your temple. 

“One,” Ghost said, releasing you with a growl.

Gaz’s hand gently turned your head toward him. You breathed a sigh as he leaned in to press your sensitive, kiss-bruised lips to his. He moved slowly and sweetly, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth to test it, but never breaking away. Each of them kissed so differently and it drove you mad thinking that all of this had been right here just waiting for you. 

Ghost wasn’t one to wait for his turn. Your lips were his. He’d claimed them already, and Gaz, as much as he liked the man, was testing his limits. He pressed his face into the crane of your neck, mask jutting into your jaw awkwardly, sinking his teeth in to what skin he could reach. The first bite shocked you enough to make you pull away from Gaz with a gasp, leaving Gaz grinning at the man behind you. 

“Nice play,” he said nicely, smiling with his teeth barred. 

He knew it was better to play fair in a situation like this and let his superiors take the lead. They were his brothers, not his enemies, after all. Besides, you had so much more to offer him. Like those beautiful tits, nipples still shiny with Soap’s spit, just begging for attention. He took off his hat, tossing it around the metal post of your headboard, and set to work.

“Cheap though,” Soap mumbled against the skin of your hip. 

Ghost grunted in response, continuing his line of bites down your neck as you whined in his grasp. 

Gaz didn’t respond, or even seem to mind. He’s humming around your nipple, flicking his tongue across the very tip. A trail of sparks shoot up your spine. His fingers gently petted across your breast, squeezing with just a bit of pressure as he reached your nipple. 

You gritted your teeth together, suppressing a moan. With all three of them working together, it was just too much. If you didn’t stop yourself now, there was no telling what wanton, stupid things you would say.   

“Harder, Gaz,” Ghost commanded. His voice rough, breath hot and ragged down your neck. 

Gaz obeyed, teeth testing the nipple in his mouth, pinching the one in his hand. You bowed back as much as you could in Ghost’s grip, a whiny moan ripping from your throat. 

“Beautiful,” Soap whispered, nuzzling at your pussy through your pants. He cleared his throat. “LT. Need yer help ‘ere,” 

You feel Ghost lean over your shoulder, looking past your exposed body down to Soap between your trembling legs. Soap’s bright eyes avoid your pleasure-drunk gaze, focusing entirely on the massive man behind you. He cracks a wide smile as their eyes lock. 

“What y’ need, Johnny?” Ghost asked, his gloved hands gripping into the flesh of your torso. 

Soap dug his fingers into your cargo pants, his smile on the edge of manic. 

“Lift ‘er up. Get these off,” he answered, throat bobbing as he spoke with denial, anticipation, lust. 

“On three,” Ghost responded, wrapping both his strong arms around your chest, locking you into place. 

Gaz had only a moment to pull off you before the count began. When Ghost reached “one”, he lifted you off the bed easily, allowing Soap enough room to pull your pants down to your knees. 

Ghost set you down, this time onto his lap. You blushed and he groaned, realizing he was now holding you down with both hands against his brutally hard cock. 

Soap was already stripping your pants off fully, throwing them with a flutter behind his back. His eyes were blown wide, blue irises fully consumed by his pupils. His chest heaved, struggling to catch his breath, as he held your legs wide enough to push his way into the drenched gusset of your panties. 

“Fuck,” he said, running his thumb up the slick-soaked fabric. 

You turned your head out of the crook of Ghost’s shoulder, struggling in vain to catch your breath. Gaz was right there, unfortunately. He caught your lips again, pushing his tongue into your mouth to quiet your pitiful mewling as Ghost rolled his cock into the plush of your ass. Gaz���s  hands cupped your breasts again, grazing alternately at your nipples just enough to send that delicious tickle down your spine. 

Soap huffed a hot breath against your clothed cunt, making you shudder against the hands containing you. 

“Ca’ wait t’ taste that pussy,” Soap moaned, his nose grazing your clit through your panties as he pushed his face fully against your leaking core. 

Ghost groaned at Soap’s words, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. You cried into Gaz’s mouth, making him break away. Ghost pulled away as well and looked over at Gaz. 

“Gaz,” Ghost asked, suddenly devoid of  emotion. 

“Hmm?” Gaz answered, looking away from you as he pet at your face, wiping away your tears. 

“When you left, where was Price?”

Gaz thought for a moment, pausing to look down at you with eyebrows knit together. 

“Cap? Not sure. After I left to find-”

“You just left him?” Ghost interrupted him tersely, leaning over into Gaz’s face, jostling you around like a doll. Soap grumbled as your pussy was wrenched away from him. Ghost wrapped a hand in Gaz’s collar to pull him close. 

“Yeah?” Gaz answered, nerves trembling his voice. “Why-”

“Because he knew I’d follow you here. Just like the rest of you did,” your Captain’s dull, almost disappointed voice answered from the dark just outside your door. 

A spike of fear shot down your spine. Oh, you were all so screwed. 

a/n: yes, part three of Girl's Night Out is still coming! consider this an extra anniversary treat dedicated to everyone who sent kind messages while I clawed my way out of this bout of depression. (✿◠‿◠) ❤️ part two to this thing . . . idk when y'all want it??

[starry-bi-sky]

i've mentioned in a few past posts about an au where Danny is a variant of Jason Todd. I haven't made a post about it yet because I need a good rhythm flowing however i've been listening to Gladiator by Jann and I have been having thoughts.

but first, let me set the au:

Danny Fenton is Jason Todd, or at least, a variant of him. A him from a universe separate to the major Batman timeline - but still Jason Todd, down to the structure of his face and his name itself. The only thing that changes, is who picks him up - and, that he follows old Batman canon, and was an orphan. Jason Todd steals the tires off the batmobile and wallops Batman with his tirejack, and then runs off. Shortly after, he gets picked up by the Fentons.

(Customary line break,,,, word count check: 5k)

And his name changes from Jason Todd to Danny Fenton. He doesn't care much for the new name change, it stems from his mute refusal to share his name to the people that picked him up; an attempt to make him untraceable should he get away from them, and to keep something of his to himself. So they name him something new. He grows to like it enough as he acclimates to his new family.

(He hangs onto the name Jason Todd like a secret - he may be 'Danny Fenton' now, but he'll never forget his time on Gotham's streets. He'll always be Jason Todd.)

(Jazz is the only one who he tells his name to in the family - she affectionately calls him Jay whenever she wants.)

He becomes friends with Sam and Tucker and deals with Dash and his bullying. And when Danny steps in during a fight between Dash and another student, Dash gives him a bleeding nose and mockingly says, "Do you think you're Robin just because you're from Gotham, Fenton?"

Jason looks him in the eyes and he bares his teeth, "Why not?" he asks, spitting blood, "being Robin gives me magic."

The nickname sticks. It's supposed to be an insult; Daniel Fenton is not Robin, he'll never be Robin. Not now, not in a million years. Jason Todd has always wanted to be Robin, so he takes the insult and wears it proudly. He buys a school varsity jacket and painstakingly undos the stitching of all the school's motif on it. On the breast of it, he embroiders in a black circle with the Boy Wonder "R" on it instead. It's not good stitching, but the next day Danny wears it down to breakfast and into school.

In normal au canon, Daniel Jason Todd-Fenton (its a mouthful, just call him Danny) only meets the Waynes after he becomes Phantom - an event that leans more towards Daniel Fenton's accident than Jason Todd's death, but traumatizes him all the same. (Is it too much to want to be mourned? His best friends like to deny that he died - and Danny - Jason? - wishes they wouldn't, even if he did come back.)

(The accident embitters him, even more when his parents don't seem to pick up on it. He stops calling himself Danny Fenton - he's always been Jason Todd. It shows itself in his ghostly form. He doesn't want to wear the thing he died in, not in something that belongs to the Fentons, and his suit reflects that.)

In this timeline, Daniel Jason Todd-Fenton, aged 13, meets Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne after a mishap with magic on the other end of the reality sends the three of them careening through time and space, and spat back out on the other end, in a world not their own. And together.

Danny is paired with a very confused Bruce Wayne and Richard Grayson. Luckily, there's a few heroes there to help them. Danny can hardly comprehend the idea that he's in another universe - he doesn't know why Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne are seemingly handling it well.

On their way to a secondary base with the heroes, Danny turns to Bruce Wayne and asks, "So, is it part of rich-person training that you're just totally chill with being sent into another universe, or are you just weird?"

Bruce Wayne huffs at him, rather than get offended, and he smiles that dumb lopsided billionaire smile that Danny's seen on every vogue magazine he's been in. "I'm not so worried with these skilled heroes here to help us get home."

Danny silently concludes that he's just weird. At least Dick Grayson is biting back a smile behind him. "Riiiight..." He says, dragging the vowel out dryly.

When they get to that secondary location -- a safehouse that one of the heroes had set up -- the three of them are sat in a living room-like room while one hero, Zatanna, goes and calls someone from the Justice League. The other two heroes stay with the three of them.

Within a few hours, Danny is face to face with Batman - someone who he hasn't seen since he whacked him in the stomach with a tire iron - and Nightwing. For a moment, Danny swears that the both of them look almost spooked by him.

Batman stares at him for a moment when he enters, and then he goes to speak with Bruce Wayne. Danny doesn't care enough to hear what they're talking about, he pulls out his phone as Nightwing goes to speak with Dick Grayson.

"Are you a fan of Robin, little man?" Someone says, and when Danny looks up he locks eyes with Dick Grayson -- who is leaning around Nightwing to talk to him, the both of them are smiling. And considering who Nightwing was, Danny finds himself turning pink to the ears.

But he will not hide his jacket. He forces a grin through his embarrassment, "Hell yeah, man, Robin's cool." He says, and pushes his arms down to pull out the hem of his letterman, showing off the emblem. "I made it m'self out of a school varsity after the A-Listers started callin' me Robin."

"A-Listers?"

"Popular kids," Danny corrects, loosing his hold on the hem and brushing invisible wrinkles out of the embroidery. "They didn't like that I kept stepping in when they were bullying. Dash asked me if i thought I was Robin because I was from Gotham."

Dick Grayson looks intrigued -- and concerned, and he leans forward onto his knees and raises an eyebrow. "What did you say?"

And Danny grins a shark-like thing, straightening back his shoulders with a burning sort of smug pride and all the sharpness of broken glass left in Crime Alley. "I told him being Robin gave me magic, and then I punched him."

Dick Grayson's smile widens, splitting into showing teeth as he leans back into his seat. Danny isn't sure why he's so delighted - but Nightwing looks incredibly amused, and he suddenly remembers that the Robin himself was there in front of him.

Danny's face burns anew and his arms fold themselves in front of him once again.

"I don't think I ever caught your name, Robin." Dick Grayson goes, his voice thick with laughter, and Nightwing steps off to the side as Batman and Bruce Wayne walk over to join them both. They're just close enough that Danny can see Bruce Wayne raise an eyebrow at them both.

"It's Jason." Danny says before he can think about it, and barely stops himself from frowning at himself for the slip. He amends himself, glancing over at Batman and Bruce as they get closer. "But everyone calls me Danny."

Dick Grayson's head recoils slightly, and he looks a little surprised. "Why Danny?" He asks.

"Why Dick?" He shoots back, and Bruce and Dick both smile at him, with Dick Grayson shrugging with an expression that looks like 'you've got a point.'

In the end, the three of them - yes, three - get sent to this world's Wayne Manor, and Danny is bewildered by that decision to include himself -- he's not a Wayne. Why not just send him to the Fentons?

Batman tells him that the Fentons don't exist in this world, and Danny falls silent. "Oh." He says quietly, a pit growing in his stomach with an ill-kind of dread. He can't keep Batman's gaze, looking away with unease.

No Fentons in this world. No Fentons. Where was he then, in the grand scheme of things? Where was he in this world? What happened to Jason Todd? Was he even alive? He can't keep the worry off his face, and he jumps when a hand lands on his shoulder. When he looks up, Dick Grayson squeezes him gently.

Dick Grayson is steadily beginning to remind him of his sister.

-

They end up driving back in the Batmobile. It's such a shock to Danny that he momentarily forgets the lack of Fentons. He makes a laugh sound, actually, and immediately he covers his hand with his mouth and stares at the car -- tank? with his teeth sunk into his lower lip.

"Jason?" Dick says, and hearing his name being spoken feels like someone touched him with a livewire. It's weird, it's foreign - he hates, in some way, that it's foreign - and it's so nice. Yes, that's me.

He drops his hand immediately. "Sorry." He says, realizing he'd stopped in his tracks, "I -uh, was just surprised."

"It's not every day someone sees the Batmobile." Dick agrees. Nightwing has his back to them but Danny swears he sees his shoulders shaking a little.

"Yeah," Danny nods slowly, dragging his eyes over the batmobile as Batman opens the driver's side and gets in. He thinks for a moment, of what he should say next - whether to admit that he's seen it before, or to pretend that he's seeing it for the first time. Snd as Nightwing opens the door for him, Bruce, and Dick, he chooses the funnier option; "The last time I saw it, I was stealing its tires."

To his surprise and unsurprise, Danny only gets two pairs of eyes on him. Nightwing gets into the passenger seat as both Bruce and Dick turn their gaze onto him; Dick's eyes big like they were going to bulge out of his head.

"You what!?"

So Danny tells an amazed Dick Grayson that he hit Batman with a tire iron after he stole his tires - something he is very proud about and also incredibly embarrassed about when he retells what happened in the backseat of the batmobile, with Batman and Nightwing listening in from the front seat.

(Bruce Wayne doesn't ever tell Dick shit, he's going to lord this over Bruce's head the moment they are alone.)

"Please tell me this didn't happen in this world." Danny groans behind his palms as he sinks into his seat. Dick Grayson is killing himself laughing on his left, and he saw Bruce Wayne stifling a smile before he obscured his vision with his hands.

Much to his luck, its Batman himself who speaks next, (Danny was being mostly rhetorical). "It did." He says, and his voice sounds like the rumble of the earth before a stampede. It will never not throw Danny off every time he hears it. "It takes quite a lot of spunk to steal the tires off the batmobile."

He can't believe it. Batman is making fun of him. Fucking, Batman.

He wants to die with embarrassment. He groans even louder as Dick Grayson's laughter crescendoes. Danny risks a peak through his fingers, he doesn't know whether to regret it or not because he can just barely see Batman smirk very faintly from his position in the middle.

(His world axis tilts five degree leftways seeing it; like someone dunked a bucket of ice water on him.)

"He ended up being adopted by the Bruce Wayne of this world."

Danny's hands drop with his jaw into his lap. Dick Grayson on his left chokes on his laughter and careens into a coughing fit. Bruce Wayne on his right chokes on air, and quickly recovers himself with a cough behind a closed fist.

"What?" Danny croaks.

-

Apparently, Bruce Wayne's family is much larger in this world than it is in his. Danny can barely wrap his head around the idea that he ends up adopted by the man, but now he has to learn that Wayne had several children in this world?

He's still not wrapped his head around it when the three of them wind up at Wayne Manor, finally, or even when he's standing in front of him himself. For his effort, Bruce Wayne does a good job at looking unruffled by it.

God, he's weird. Danny's starting to quite like it, actually. How human of him.

He still can't wrap his head around it when he meets the rest of Bruce Wayne's children, all of whom are already aware of the three of them. Danny thinks that someone from the Justice League might've alerted them before they got here.

It makes sense, he supposes.

It helps that they are just as weirded out as he is. A boy named Tim Drake sees him for the first time and blurts out; "Oh wow, you're tiny." In a tone like he's just seen a two-headed snake burst out of the ground.

Danny is still offended. He's still growing. It's not his fault he spent twelve years of his life malnourished. "I'm gonna be taller than you," he tells him seriously, "and when I do I'm gonna kick your ass."

Tim snorts at him.

The other Bruce Wayne -- Mr. Wayne's -- youngest looks at him up and down with a face of carefully controlled judgement. His name is Damian, he's Bruce Wayne's only biological son. Danny can't believe that there's only one.

If anything, Bruce Wayne himself looks surprised too.

"Todd, yes?" Damian says, his green eyes narrowed at him.

Danny feels like the specimen under his parents' microscope, he feels like he's standing on a platform that's being slowly spun by scientists. He looks over at Bruce Wayne in confusion, and then back at Damian. "I- yes?"

Damian Wayne nods, and then leaves.

Danny does not once see himself. That is unsettling in and of itself - surely Jason Todd would have been told about another version of himself in this world, wouldn't he? How old is he here? An adult, probably. Danny doesn't know if he wants to see him. What does he look like when he's grown up? He pulls his Robin jacket around him a little tighter, like a cocoon, like a shield.

"It's weird to hear them call me Jason Todd." He says aloud to himself, and it leaves a weight behind in his chest that shouldn't hurt the way it does. It shouldn't be weird to be called your name. It shouldn't cobweb up your throat to hear your name being said. It was his name. It was his.

-

Danny acclimates to the manor slowly. The house is big, massive. He's never been in a house so large before, he feels like a stray cat being taken in for the first time, again. He and Bruce and Dick Grayson are all given their own separate rooms - one of many inside this mansion - and the sheer size of his bedroom is bigger than his living room and kitchen combined.

it's daunting. Danny sits outside on the balcony and stares at the stars he can see - Wayne Manor is far enough away from Gotham that its light pollution doesn't obscure the sky here like it did in the heart of it.

Danny finds the constellations he can find and wishes he had his books with him. He finds the library the next day and buries himself in the back, curling up into a comfy armchair next and inhaling each book he can get his hands on.

Tim Drake wanders past him at some point, Danny would have missed him if it weren't for the fact that Drake stared at him strangely when he saw him. He walks away when he realizes Danny was staring back.

It's a rinse and repeat for the next few days. Danny doesn't go to meals, he sneaks food from the kitchen afterwards, and then buries himself in hundreds of books in the library.

Dick Grayson, the one from his world, goes and finds him three days later. Danny's eyes hurt with strain by then, but he is furiously halfway through a Jane Austen novel when Dick sits down across from him.

"Have you been here all day?" Dick asks, he drapes himself across the side of his chair, contorting himself into a position that Danny doesn't think is comfortable when he looks up at him.

Not that he looks up at him long - he hums absently and goes back to reading. Frowning when he realizes he lost his place on the page.

Dick Grayson raises an eyebrow, "Have you at least eaten anything?"

Danny hums. No, he hasn't, and he hadn't thought about eating all day. Until now that is, his frown ever deepening as his stomach pangs with a deep hunger.

"That's not healthy."

"Mhm."

"Are you going to eat something?"

"Mhhh."

And this gets Dick to frown. He straightens himself up, propping onto his elbows to stare at Danny. "Jason." He says strongly. And it's that that gets Danny to finally look up from his page, jumping like he'd again been poked with a live wire as he stares at Dick with wide eyes.

"Yes?"

"Put the book down." Dick orders, gesturing towards the side table next to Danny with a nod. "And come eat something." There's very little room for argument in his voice, he sounds like Jazz when she's trying to parent him, but instead he actually sounds authoritative. Not bossy.

Danny still frowns at him. "You're not the boss of me." He says, sinking back into his chair with a thumb bookmarking his page.

Dick gives him a look and makes a decisive noise, swaggling his head side to side while he does. "I'm pretty sure that for as long as we're here, me and B actually are the boss of you."

He's never really liked authority figures, not ones that tried to boss him around, that is. Danny doubles down, his lips curling into a shadow of a scowl. "Just because you're my brother in another world doesn't mean you can act like it."

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

"I don't want to go eat."

"It's not good for you to skip meals."

"Quit talking like Jazz."

"Danny."

Danny sinks his teeth into his lip and scowls darkly at him, shrinking into the back of his armchair in hopes that it'll swallow him whole. The idea of going into that large fucking dining room fills him with a dread that makes him completely forget his appetite.

"Your fucking- dining room is- it's too big." He grits out, finally closing his book and hugging it tightly to his chest.

Dick blinks at him. "What?"

"You heard me! It's too big. This whole place is too big. It's- what do you even do with this much space? I don't know how this- other me ever lived here."

Dick Grayson surprises him, and his expression softens. "Oh," he says, "I get it."

"You do?" The tension bleeds slowly out of Danny's shoulders

"Yeah, I felt the same way when I first moved in with Bruce. I lived with the circus for most of my life, but I slept in a trailer." He says. And he talks more.

The end result of their conversation ends with Dick Grayson offering to let Danny sit across or next to him during mealtimes, and that he can talk to him if he starts getting uneasy. But he can't keep skipping meals - it was making them all worried.

Danny agrees, and Dick takes him down to the kitchens for food.

"They look at me weirdly too." He grumbles as they leave the library, Danny's book returned to the shelf where it belonged. When Dick looks at him curiously, he scrunches his nose up. "The - your other siblings. They look at me like I'm- I'm someone else. S'weird."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Dick asks, "You are someone else."

Dany shrugs, staring at the ground with a heavy frown. "I don't know."

-

Danny seeks out Dick more after that. And vice versa. Dick reminds Danny of Jazz, and he latches onto the familiarity like a leech. If Dick is bothered by it, he doesn't show it, whether he's talking to his other world's self, to the Bruce's, or to one of the other Wayne kids.

Damian Wayne seems particularly keen to seek him out, Danny finds. He thinks it means that they're close in this world, and that Damian wants to see more of what a young Dick is like. That's what he would do, at least.

He takes up on Dick's offer of seating near him during dinner, and finds an open spot across from him. Unless he has something to show him, then he sits next to him.

("You can call me Jason." He tells him one day when they're in the Wayne's massive, fuck-off gym and they're both climbing over the jungle gym. Dick's showing him how to be more flexible. It's the most Danny's worked out ever, he likes the burn it gives him.

Dick looks at him in surprise, "Really?" he's doing a handstand on the bars and Danny's more than a little jealous at his balance.

"Yeah, dipshit," he says, rolling his eyes, "I'll even let you call me Jay, it's my nickname."

Dick happily takes him up on that offer, and much to Danny's embarrassment, starts calling him Jaybird. All because of his stupid Robin jacket.)

Danny has yet to meet his other self still, it's scaring him a little. Where was he? And matter of fact, how long until he could go back to his home dimension? The three of them hadn't gotten any updates since they arrived.

Speaking of, he was starting to talk to Bruce more, it was just... strange. Even stranger than talking to Dick. Bruce Wayne in another life would have been his adoptive father, Danny can't wrap his head around it for the life of him.

Whatever did Bruce Wayne see in Jason Todd that made him worth adopting? He's too afraid of the answer to ask. They start talking more after they run into each other late at night. Danny had been hit with a bout of insomnia and was going to the library.

He ran into Bruce on the way. He was just.. staring, out the window, with a faraway look in his eye. He didn't even look startled to see Danny standing there.

Danny asks him if he wants to go to the library with him. It was out of panic. He isn't expecting Bruce Wayne to agree, and they walk there in suffocating silence. Danny keeps looking at him from the corner of his eye.

("You're staring?" Bruce doesn't sound upset, Danny jumps anyway.

"Yeah, sorry." his voice sounds stilted, "it's just..." his jaw wires itself shut for a spell, "...you looked like you were about to disappear."

"Ah.")

When they reach the library, Danny leads Bruce Wayne into the science section and takes out books upon books about stars. He leads him over to the armchair and fire and they both sit down on the ground.

"When I lived in Gotham I would stargaze." Danny says, it's the first thing he can think of. Bruce Wayne looks at him quizzically. "Well, I would try to. The sky's too polluted for that. Mostly I would just watch the skyline and try and spot Batman and Robin, was the same thing."

That cracks a smile out of Bruce. It's a small one, barely there. "I hardly think the two are comparable."

Danny is still serious. "Not to me."

He goes on, talking about how after he was adopted he got his hands on every star book he could find. He loves english and he loves to read, but something about the stars drew him in like a song. He rambles about every star fact he knows with Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne surprises him by telling him facts he didn't know. Danny soaks it up like a sponge, listening intently to him speak. And when they run out of star books to talk about, Danny tells Bruce that it was his turn to find something for them to talk about.

Bruce Wayne smiles again at him, a sly little thing like Danny's challenged him, and gets up. He comes back with a stack of film books, and they spend the next few hours going through them. Bruce Wayne rattles off every single movie fun fact he knows, and there is so much that he knows.

Danny is in awe, and moves to press against Bruce's side to see the stuff he points at in his books.

"You're smarter than people give you credit for." He says at some point, when his eyes hurt from being open for too long and his head leans against Bruce's arm for support. It follows with a jaw-cracking yawn that he tries and fails to stifle.

"Thank you, Danny." Bruce says, his voice soft and soothing and not helping with Danny's weighing exhaustion. His eyes drift, and then jerk open. "Do you want to go back to your room? You look tired, chum."

He bites back a smile at the nickname, and fails to keep it bitten. "No, no, I'm awake." He mumbles, shaking his head slowly. "I wanna hear-" he yawns again, "-hear you talking."

Danny swears he can hear the smile in Bruce's voice as he speaks; "Alright. Now, where was I?"

In the end, Danny falls asleep on the floor of the library next to Bruce Wayne. He doesn't even realize it until he wakes up the next morning. But it's not to worry, Bruce Wayne fell asleep too, an arm thrown around Danny protectively like he was his own kid.

This becomes a thing for them soon enough. When neither of them can sleep, they go to the library and talk and talk about whatever comes to mind.

There comes the dreaded night after they've finished whatever book they were looking at when Bruce, the little shit, turns to Danny and goes; "You never mentioned what happened after you hit Batman with a tire iron."

Danny groans, big and dramatic, burying his head in his arms, and ignores the low chuckle. "I thought he was gonna chase me down for sure." He complains, his voice muffled by his arms.

"Why did you hit him with a tire iron?"

The look Bruce gets is one of pure disbelief. "If Mothman suddenly showed up behind you while you were taking the wheels off his ride, you'd hit him too!"

"Last time I checked, Mothman isn't real." Bruce told him amusedly, and Danny flops over onto his back to stare him down. His arms sprawl out like a starfish, intentionally hitting Bruce in the shoulder.

"You don't know that, Batman's a cryptid and he's real."

Bruce roars with laughter, and Danny preens like a bird.

That next morning when Bruce passes by him for breakfast, he reaches over and ruffles his hair. It's the same thing he does for Dick every morning. It's the first of many, and it gets many stares from the surrounding family.

Bruce has a newspaper tucked under his arm, and when he sits down Danny stands up and skedaddles over to him, leaning over the side of his chair to peer at the paper.

"Any cryptids spotted, Buzz?" He asks, getting a startled laugh out of Bruce, who looks up at him.

"Buzz?"

"Well, yeah," and Danny states it as matter-of-fact. He gestures his head at Dick Grayson. "Dick calls you 'B', and B is for bees, and I can't just call you Bees, that's dumb. So; Buzz."

He grins triumphantly when Bruce laughs quietly, his shoulders shaking imperceptibly. "I know," he tilts his head up proudly, "I'm a genius."

Now he's actually laughing, dropping his head into one of his hands and trying to quiet himself as much as possible. Danny is positively beaming, ignoring the stares of the other Waynes as he flounces back to his seat just as the other Mister Wayne enters the room.

-

When Jason Daniel Fenton Todd meets Jason Todd for the first time, they both just stare at each other.

Danny recognizes himself immediately in the library, and he freezes up. His tongue ties to the roof of his mouth, and he's unsure of what to say.

He doesn't need to say anything at all, because when Jason Todd looks up and they lock eyes, they both just stare. And stare. Jason Todd is a large, hulk of a man, built like a brick shithouse, with a tired, traumatized look in his eyes and a white streak in his black curls. The same black curls that Danny himself has.

He has no idea what to say. Or if he should turn back around and leave.

Jason Todd sighs at him, "I know they told me you and another world's Bruce and Dickie were here," he says, but it sounds like he's talking to himself. Even moreso when he mutters half-heartedly, "-but I was hoping I wouldn't run into you."

Danny feels small next to him. He doesn't know why. "Sorry." He says lamely, his one foot skips back, "I can leave if you want." It's unlike him to be meek, he thinks. Not after years of Gotham living and dealing with the likes of Dash and his Jerk Jocks.

But this also isn't the streets, and this isn't other kids being dicks. Jason Todd shakes his head, and gestures with one large arm for Danny to come over. "You don't need to do that, you were coming to read, right?"

He nods, and tentatively makes his way over. When Jason looks at him, he sees him cast his eyes over his Robin jacket - he wears it everyday. Danny sees him narrow his eyes, just slightly. But he says nothing.

It's... a strange conversation. Interaction. Jason Todd doesn't talk to him much, and if he does it's stilted and awkward, like he doesn't know how to treat him. Like he's holding him at arm's length.

Jason's getting tired of being treated like a ghost.

They talk about their books. They compare lives. Jason Todd was picked up a few days after he stole the wheels of the batmobile. He wasn't an orphan, he lived with his mom and his stepdad before he lived with Bruce. They both like to read, only Danny has an interest in the stars.

("What do your adoptive parents do?" Jason Todd asks him, one arm slung over the back of the armchair, he looks relaxed. He looks tense. Danny feels like he's back in Crime Alley again.

"They're 'ectologists'." He says, making air quotes over the word. He rolls his eyes, "Ghost hunters. They study the dead and all things afterlife."

Jason Todd makes a dry laugh huff, a sarcastic half-smile on his face. He doesn't explain why he does, Danny doesn't ask why. It doesn't seem like his business.)

Danny wants to ask him where he got that white streak in his hair. It doesn't feel right. It feels like his parents' lab, and that isn't right. Nothing ever feels like his parents' lab.

Jason Todd leaves first after giving him a few book recommendations. Danny isn't sure how to rate the experience. Being in Jason Todd's presence was like standing in a liminal space. An empty parking lot at night. When he leaves it feels like much the same thing.

He struggles to read his books afterwards, unable to shake the feeling of being haunted.

[starriegalaxy]

I’m biting FFau Eclipse

He deserves it </33

Hexcii um-

My jestie in good conscience -

I don't think that's a good idea -

(Suggestive sequel under the cut!)

Tagging : @crabsnpersimmons @amarynthian-chronicles @ping-ski

[frxggie-baguette]

[pollyannawog]

Now that it's finished: all the illustrations I made for my Kieranpon fic ✨✨

Original AU by @shima-draws

[sobredunia]

they vibin :]

don't worry about that last one don't worry about it

taglist for the creators and AUs of the characters in the animation under the cut!

Kanako from UNDERTALE ROM LEAK by @keksalot404

Ceroba from Underfell yellow by @pantamonte

Chujin from Undertale gold by @s0ckh3adstudios

Dalv from Vitale Yellowfell by @stringsbasement (i want him so bad. i'm sorry)

Sirius by @here1snyan i'm sorry for massacring your boy but there's no way i'm doing all those gradients and effects consistently in every single frame

Axis from the StarryScreenBuddy AU by @therealcallmekd

(the reason why the end was censored is bc it's heavy lore spoilers of an AU a friend is making, and she doesn't wanna reveal it just yet. it's redswap by @fuji-iri btw. i love mentally ill people who would rather die than admit they're experiencing grief)

oh also art taglist

@rotkad @butchlesbianyaoi @blackfright @beetroot-merchant @ashs-hellhole @h3xt0r @bree-sae @helloidkwhatimdoing-0 @zecrisketch

[starryiguess]

Boothill Touchstarved HC

Boothill x GN! Reader. goofy goober is a little touchstarved

★ I feel like Boothill would value skinship. Most of his body is machinery and he can’t really feel you. His head is the only exception because that is the one that survived the impact.

★ He might grumble on how annoying it is for you to pinch his cheeks, but let’s be fr, bro is touch STARVED.

★ He is really good with kids. (Not going to elaborate). THOUGH, RANDOM IDEA, WHAT IF CLARA AND BOOTHILL MET?? That would be so cute like genuinely. Father-daughter bond right there.

★ He would be really gentle with you. Boothill has that lingering, soft touch that feels like a feather brushed your skin. He knows how valuable human life is; he used to be human himself. Because of that, he’ll appreciate the smaller things more.

★ He’ll really try to hide his feelings, but you can tell how he’s truly feeling.

Your warm hands squeezes his cheeks. It’s unbearably warm on his face. Boothill lets out a steady breath as he relaxes, closing his eyes. He can feel every curve of your palm. The way it presses, rubs, and… pinches?!?

His eyes widened in shock from the sensation.

(Insert Boothill asking why Reader is pinching his cheeks)

(Reader asking if he wants them to stop).

(Insert silence and hesitant look on Boothill’s side).

[Sorry, it’s kind unfinished, but I didn’t know how to write the rest of the parts so you can use your imagination]. (╥﹏╥)

[starry-night-author]

June of Doom Day #28

"Say something." | Cold Shoulder | Gag |

June Of Doom Prompt List @juneofdoom

"Oh Herooooooo," Villain singsonged as they stepped into the dark room. Hero sat facing away from them, shoulders relaxed, head down. "Still hanging out in here, are you?"

No response.

Villain pulled up an office chair behind them, flopping down and leaning back, hands behind their head. "Superhero not letting you attack random villains again? That must be soooo hard for you."

Hero didn't so much as move.

Villain scowled, rolled their eyes. Hero really was rubbing it in thick. "Can't believe you don't even have a babysitter anymore, did Superhero get tired of dealing with you?"

That didn't even get a raise out of them, the way it usually would.

With a frustrated groan, Villain stood, pacing behind them. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?! It was my fault that you were given the wrong information, but I didn't know you were going to stake your entire mission on it! And you were mean to me when I was explaining the layout to you, so you deserve it." Villain pouted.

Seconds went by. No response.

Villain rolled their eyes. "Look, you don't have to be this rude about it, you're fine, nothing bad happened! And I'm not apologizing again."

Nothing.

"Hero?"

The only sign that Hero was even alive was from their breathing.

Finally, Villain moved to storm off. "Fine, then. I'll give you space."

No response.

"Say something, you idiot."

Silence.

Now fed up, Villain turned back to them, nudging their shoulder. "Hero come on, this is petty-"

Hero slipped sideways as Villain pushed them, and it was only Villain's quick movements that stopped them from falling out of the seat. Villain caught them, gasping as they caught sight of their face.

Hero was very much unconscious, and there was a band of silver tape over their mouth. Their head lolled back on Villain's shoulder, and that's when they caught sight of the envelope placed in Hero's arms.

It was signed by Supervillain.

Villain's heart dropped.

[icewindandboringhorror]

I made a few new wax seal stamps out of clay (like the ones I did for my worldbuilding stuff forever ago), this time just of random symbols that I thought might look good done in the style of painting over the raised part of the wax or etc. :0c Some of them aren't carved deep enough to really show up that well, but overall they worked okay for being clay lol

[upon-a-starry-night]

Marvel Incorrect Quotes

*Y/n being interviewed*

Interviewer: So y/n, what makes you happy?

Y/n: Natasha

Interviewer: awee. okay- What makes you scared?

Y/n:... Natasha

Interviewer: oh? okay.. uhm. What turns you on?

Y/n:*sweating profusely*... N- Natasha

Interviewer: are you going to answer Natasha to every question

Y/n: *on the verge of tears* N- n-

interviewer: -No?

Y/n: *softly*  ᴺᵃᵗᵃˢʰᵃ

[horatiocomehome]

Hi my dream last night did something to me so here's a word dump I wrote immediately after waking up so I could get catharsis.

What if... instead of looping, Siffrin just came back to life?

~~~

You should've known it was too easy. No traps, only weak sadnesses, keys in relatively obvious places. It was so easy to get through the first floor.

But now there's a large sadness, and you've taken one hit too many.

As you fall to the ground you see your party close ranks in front of you. To protect you.

You see Bonnie, running up, with a crafted water.

Your vision is going dark.

There's a flicker, above Bonnie. It's…

The sadness it's arm above Bonnie it's attacking.

You tackle Bonnie. Something slams into your back.

You can't move anything except twitch your fingers you ca n't look up just at the floor

Bonnie's boots are there someone is screaming

You aren't g oing to make it.

You wanted more time w ith them you want to live you want t o stay with them you want to stay with them YOU DON'T WANT TO DIE YOU W ANT T O S T A Y W I T H TH

GAME OVER > continue > quit

You wake up from a deep sleep. You had a bad dream last night.

Someone's pulled the sheets up over your head. You toss them off.

Oh.

You aren't in your bed. You're back in your dream.

This is where you died.

It's quiet, now. No sadness. No party.

You look to the side, at the sheets you tossed off that weren't really sheets but your cloak, neatly draped over you where you were stretched out. Like a corpse.

Did you really die? But you're back here, so you couldn't have, right?

Maybe they gave you crafted water and it only just kicked in? But then where's the rest of your party?

There's a sickening certainty setting in to your gut.

You died, didn't you. And somehow you're back.

Your party left without you.

Good. They still need to kill the king.

Maybe… you can still catch up. You need to find them. You're okay! They'll be so happy to see you!

You stagger to your feet. You're a little light-headed, dizzy for a moment, then it passes. You put back on your cloak, grab your hat where it sits (right above where your head used to lie) and put it back on. Onwards you go.

There aren't any sadnesses, as you walk through the halls. Did they manage to defeat them all without you? Or was there some kind of reprieve after that large sadness?

You hope they got a bit of rest.

As you turn the corner, you see an open doorway, hear quiet voices coming through.

You don't know why you pause.

"—if we can't bring him with us, can't we bring him here at least?" you hear Mirabelle whisper, with a desperation that turns your stomach.

"I'm with Mira." Isa's voice is louder but still technically a whisper. He sounds so serious. "What if more sadnesses come? What if—"

You realize they're talking about your body. A shiver goes down your back.

"No." Odile's voice is steel in a way that makes you flinch. "We need to keep moving. We can't go back for them, or bring them with us. And sadnesses are just as likely to come here as that other room."

"BUT—" Mirabelle starts to protest.

You stop listening and force yourself to start moving forward. They don't have to fight! You're right here! You—

You freeze again as Bonnie walks through the doorway. They hug the wall as soon as they make it through the doorway, shooting a glance back over their shoulder before looking back down at the ground.

"Jus' need to make it to Dormont," they whisper so quiet you can barely hear. "I can do that. Just make it to Dormont. They'll all be fine."

They're sniffling as they shuffle along the wall towards you. Still not looking.

"I can make it back to Dormont. Then they won't worry about me and I won't hold them back like a crabbing baby and they'll be just fine and I'll freeze with all the other little kids and wait for them to—"

"Bonbon?" You ask.

They freeze, and turn towards you. Their eyes are dark and puffy.

When they lock eyes with you there's a beat and then they scream, terrified.

There's yelling from the other room. You ignore it. Your stomach is dropping like it's made of lead and you drop to your knees, stretching your arms wide. "Bonnie, no! See, look, I'm okay! I'm alright!"

They take a step back. "F-frin? Yyyou… died?"

"I got better!"

Bonnie tackles you into a hug and you don't have time to flinch as you fall back onto the tile floor, so you just wrap your arms around them. Over their head you see your other companions burst through the door, weapons at the ready.

"I HATE YOU," Bonnie is scream sobbing into your chest. "I HATE YOU I THOUHT YOU WERE DEAD YOU'RE A CRABBING IDIOT I HATE YOU."

Your heart twists but they're still holding you so tight, so you keep hugging them back. Your companions lower their weapons looking like they've seen a ghost.

Maybe they have.

You don't have time to think about it because then they're rushing in to hug you too, the warmth of their bodies pressing into yours, their tears dripping onto you—and you're crying as well, and even Odile, who hung back, has a glint on her cheek.

"I'm back," you say. Bonnie is still sobbing into your chest, but they've stopped yelling at you. "I'm alive. We're all going to be okay."

[last-starry-sky]

Simon constantly teases you about how short/small you are. It upsets you, makes you feel singled out, weak, incompetent. Turns out he’s just dying to know how well you can fit him, how big his cock would look next to your hands and feet. Won’t shut up about it during sex either. A dash of mean Simon + his untapped size kink

eeeeee im gonnafuckining explode OKAY FOR REAL I WAS DYING WHEN I SAW THIS. thank u, beautiful, patient anon, for blessing me with this prompt!! I hope I did it justice!

ghost x petite!f!military!reader

(MDNI - NSFW uhhhh grossly inaccurate military stuff, creeper, bully simon :), i’m using “petite” as in “shorter and smaller than the average woman” trying to keep everything as open and vague as possible, oral, deep throating, ghost has a raging size kink, unprotected piv, also this is LONG (5.6k) 💀 i'm sorry!!! skip to the end for smut if that's all you want!❤️) 

It’s been the same fucking comments from your lieutenant all week. Day in, day out and it’s starting to wear a sore spot into your hardened skin. 

“Muzzle up. Arms tired already? ‘s a big rifle for someone your size to carry.”

“Keep pace with the group. Your short legs aren’t their problem.”

“Shoulders back! Chest out! Some’ve y’ need all the height you can get!”

All you can do is grit out a “yes, sir” or “no, sir” and push yourself even harder to keep up with the taller and stronger men and women around you. The massive Brit in charge is running your training group. While you expected this to be hard (your CO hadn’t been mincing words when he pitched it as “advanced”) but you never expected this. 

First of all, from the very beginning, he seemed to have a problem with you. Only you. There were a handful of women in the group, but you were unfortunately the shortest and smallest. Not that it bothered you. You’d spent your whole life this size. You were used to it. It was everyone else, especially the wanna-be, alpha males that flocked to the military like flies, that gave you grief over it.

The second you all lined up off the transport, you could feel his eyes on you. You tried not to stare back while the other Brit, Captain Price, gave a short introductory talk. You hadn’t heard a word of it. He stood there, flanking the captain, in a black, skin tight t shirt, with his obscenely muscled arms crossed over his ridiculously broad chest. A buzzing filled your ears as his black eyes bored into you. His stare so hot and heavy it made you sweat. His eyes were all of his face that he left uncovered, the rest was hidden by a skull mask and balaclava. You tried to ignore him, but you swore you saw the ink on his arm flexing as the captain introduced him: Lt. Ghost.

From the first training exercise, a simple one on one spar, he pulled you of all people from the women’s group to demonstrate on. What could you do? Refuse? He had at least a foot and close to one hundred pounds of muscle on you. You tried not to shake as you squared up at the opposite end of the mat. 

He told you to rush him, to “show him what you got”. Well, you tried. Once he gave signal to start, all you could do was try to fake him out. You ran at him before quickly darting to the side, trying to get behind him using your short stature to your advantage. Unfortunately for you, he was crazy agile for a large guy. He pivoted on his foot, watching you as you tried to fade to his left. You steeled yourself when he caged you in his arms, sweeping your feet off the mat. Your world was a blur until he slammed you roughly down onto the mat. Your breath was knocked from you, your vision spinning. You heard the crowd around you let out a collective “OH”. It took you a moment to realize he had you pinned. Your legs and hands held painfully down with his own. 

“‘sat all y’ got? Givin’ up already?” he grunted out with a gravely laugh while he stared down at you. He leaned down until his chest was pressed to yours, that stupid mask just grazing your face. “Or y’ got some fight left in y’? 

Hell yeah you still had some fight in you. You managed to slip out one leg from under him, jamming your knee quickly into his side. A kidney hit was dirty, you knew that. You wouldn’t dream of doing it in a normal spar, against an evenly matched partner, but he deserved it for picking on you; for picking a woman when he could have easily dominated any of the men in the room. He reacted exactly as you expected: crumpling forward in pain. You didn’t waste a second pulling your hands and legs from his grip. Another cry rang out from the crowd when you rolled out from under him, ready to jump on his back and make the pin.

“Olright, olright,” he said rubbing at his side, sitting up with a grunt before you could pin him. “I yield, y’ cheatin’ lil’ git. Next up.” 

He pointed at one of the other soldiers to come forward and take your place. The man gave you a fist bump as you left the mat and you told him “good luck”. You knew he would need it. When you turned around you saw that Ghost’s gaze had never left you. 

-

You walked back to base on Friday with your blood boiling, failure weighing heavy on your psyche after a long, hot afternoon of sniper training. You had given all you could; had put up with extra hard, extra long training, with comment after comment about your size and strength. 

Shorty. Shrimp. Rifle looks like it weights more than you. Gonna manage that?

Up early, in late everyday, almost too tired to eat and shower by the end. You had a mind to march right into Price’s office and tell him you were leaving that night. You’d made it a week, that was good enough for you. You would rather face hell from your CO back home than endure another hour of this. The second you sat down on your bunk, however, you passed out.

The exhaustion must have snapped something in your brain. You woke up a few hours later groggy and sweaty, your bunk mate snoring away. You were half on your bed with your feet still in your boots. You rolled onto your back with a groan, wiping the dried tears and dust from your cheeks. 

You let your weak arms fall over your face. You felt pathetic. You honestly wanted to just lay on your thin mattress and cry in the dark until the day started. Another day of enduring that British cunt with a superiority complex calling you short and weak, of singling you out in front of your peers, of making you question your career up to this point. He was eroding the very core of your person at this point, and you didn’t know how much long you could take it. 

You let out a sigh and, with more than a little effort, pull your sore, battered body out of bed. What you really needed was to shower, to think this out, and then find Captain Price to talk. No good would come from rushing into a decision in this state. 

You enjoyed your shower. It was nice to have all of the hot water and the whole communal space to yourself. You took your time getting dressed back into your rumbled clothes in the empty locker room. Nothing but the sound of dripping water echoing off the tile around you. 

Leaving the showers, you looked up and down the bare corridors, only enough of the overhead fluorescents left on to avoid a safety hazard. Your hair dripped onto your shoulders while you stood in the center of the hall. Price’s office had to be somewhere around here.

You wandered out of the barracks, down hall after hall of the same, painted block walls and plain tile floors, until you started seeing name plates posted haphazardly on the wooden doors. Your eyes wandered from door to door until you found what you were looking for: a sheet of 8.5x11 paper taped crookedly outside an office with Cpt. Price scrawled across the middle.

You let out a sigh of relief as you brought up your hand to knock on the door. It was almost over. The captain seemed like a reasonable man. He would surely be willing to listen to you, maybe give you some sound advice on whether you were actually cut out for this level of training. Before your hand could land on the door, a gloved hand came out from the shadows of the hall in front of you to rest above yours.

“What’re you doin’ here?” he whispered harshly.

You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. You closed your eyes in annoyance, balling your hands at your sides. Of fucking course he was here. Right at the last hurdle. Right before you could seek relief from a superior, his superior too. You let out a long breath through your nose before you opened your eyes to face him.

“I came to talk to Captain-” you started speaking with a wavering voice before he cut you off.

“Not in. Not yet, at least. Had a long night.” 

He leaned against the door, starting down at you again. God, he fucking annoyed you. You’d never had a CO that frayed at your nerves like he did. How dare he come off so cool, gripping his oversized biceps with his stupid skeleton gloves. 

You stepped back from the door. “I’ll come back when he’s in then. Sorry-”

“Can help you if you need somethin’” he interrupted you again, casually canting his hips forward, moving his hand to the door handle. 

You shook you head. While you really wanted to give him a piece of your mind, you would prefer not ending this with a disciplinary, so you bit your tongue. 

“I don’t need anything from you,” you answered with just a bit of venom.

He heard it, you were sure of it. He clicked the door open, letting it fall open to reveal the dark room inside. 

“No. I think you do, small-stuff.” When you didn’t make a move, just let another angry breath out your nose and furrow your brow deeper, he shifted to the side and pointed inside the room. “In. Now. That’s an order.”

You clenched your teeth and did as you were told. Not that you had an option now. 

-

You walked up to the desk at the back of the room. Price sure did keep his office in a state. Papers and folders were piled across his desk. A landline phone and old desktop computer were shoved to either corner of the desk. More folders and binders piled over the keyboard and hid the keypad of the phone. You heard Ghost’s boots squeak lightly on the tile behind you, then the door shut with a click. Another, soft click followed. He flipped the light switch, illuminating the spot right above you with hazy, yellow light. 

You turned to face the man who’d gone out of his way to made himself your nemesis for the past week. He silently sauntered up to you, stopping behind one of the chairs in front of the desk. You crossed your arms defensively over your chest and tried to make your face placid while he pulled the chair out. He took a seat, well, he tried too. He could barely fit his massive fame in the little chair. It groaned underneath him as he mirrored your pose, arms crossed and legs spread. 

You sat silently staring at each other before he asked, “Well?” with a roll of his shoulders. 

You picked over your words, trying to detangle everything you had thought up in the shower. Ghost bouncing his knee pulled you back to reality. It was like the threatening hiss of a rattlesnake's tail. Better to just get it out than keep him waiting.

“Do you have a problem with me?” you squeaked out, eyes on you boots. The direct route it was, then. 

“What?” he asked, confused.

You looked up at him, exhausted, eyes pleading. “Look, I know I’m short and not as strong as the other guys . . . especially the guys, but the way you talk to me-”

“Don’t have a problem with y’,” he said throwing his arm across the back of the chair, readjusting while he raked his eyes up and down your frumpy form. Probably looking for something to complain about. “If’m bein’ honest-” he started before cutting himself off and turning his head. 

You uncrossed your arms, letting them fall to your sides. “What . . .” you questioned, gesturing with your hands in front of you. “Then why do you-”

He jiggled his knee a few more times before turning back to face you. “Little thing like you,” he said darkly, so deep and low you almost didn’t hear it. He clenched his fingers on his pants as he cleared his throat. “You keep up with the rest’ve ‘em well enough. Ain’t got a problem.”

“Little thing,” you whispered, repeating him sarcastically. 

Ghost groaned at that. Honest to god groaned in front of you, sending a shiver up your spine. You froze as his heavy eyes found their way back to you. 

“Yeah. You sure are,” he said scraping his fingers down his pants. “Spunky, too. Used t’ fightin’ for your place. Like that. Makes me wonder-” he trailed off as his large eyes wandered down from your face to your chest. 

You were shocked. No way. You had to be misinterpreting this. Maybe you were still sunstroked from yesterday, because there was no way you were reading him correctly. 

“Wonder what?” you piped, blush pinching at your cheeks.

“Wonder . . .” he said rocking his head back and forth, trying to tie a sentence together. “Wonder if y’ can be sweet, too.” He let you stew in wide-eyed disbelief for a moment as he gestured at you. “Wonder what you look like underneath all that.” Your stomach clenched as he tilted his hips forward, spreading his legs wider, to palm is cock through his pants. “Wonder if it matches what I’ve imagined.”

You would be lying if it was just your stomach clenching after that shameless display.

It was crazy how it all made sense now. The constant attention. The names. You thought he was being overly hard on you, picking at you, trying to get you to drop out. You rubbed a hand over your heated face. He was a grown man (a large one, too) that was acting like a little boy with a worm on a stick, chasing the girl he liked around the playground. You thought he hated you and all this time he was actually getting off to you. You felt like an absolute moron. 

“Doesn’t have t’ leave this room. If you’re interested,” he said in that deep gravel, still trying to keep himself together. 

You let him sit in silence for a long, tortuous, moment. 

“And if I’m not?” you finally asked. 

He nodded to the door behind him with his head. “Then leave. Talk t’ Price in the morning. No harm.”

“No foul,” you finished his phrase, running your fingers over your bottom lip. 

Silence hung between you for a hot moment in the cold, stale air of the office. You had a hard time believing he would just let you go at this point. Not that you planned to, the danger intrigued you too much to walk away. This line of work had made you a wholly different animal, it’s why you were here. You ran into war zones, battlefields, hostage negotiations, the places others couldn’t run out of fast enough. You’d been dealing with the people that most couldn’t stomach, the ones that couldn’t function in civilian society, for so long that they had worn a place under your skin. This lieutenant, Ghost, he had been in this just as long, if not longer, than you. He had to feel the same. Fuck, he had be worse.     

“What . . . what do you want?” you finally managed to ramble out. 

He let out a rough hum of satisfaction. You hated how you responded to it. You rolled your thighs together and, fuck, you were wet. You let out a small, shuddering breath. You’d gone a week with no praise, no kindness, and now here he was, the big, bully Brit who’d made your life hell practically purring over you. 

He trained his hungry eyes on you and motioned up with a flick of his fingers. “Wanna see ‘em. Don’t even have’t take your shirt off.”

A part of you wondered if this was all a trick as you slowly rucked your t shirt up to expose your stomach. That would track with how your week had gone so far. He was so blatant and open though, gripping the chair beneath him like he was about to launch out of it at a moment’s notice. He groaned as you pulled your shirt up to reveal your plain black sports bra. It was nothing special, standard issue, but it kept you strapped down. Not that you really had all that much to contain. 

He ran his hand over (what you assumed) was his mouth under the balaclava. He waited a moment for you to continue before urging you forward. 

“Come on, love. Don’t get shy. Wanna see ‘em.”

You slipped your fingers underneath the wide band at the bottom, hesitating only a moment before you pulled everything, shirt included, up over your head. You stared down at your chest while you balled your clothes in your hands.

“Not much to see,” you whispered, watching your nipples perk and skin pucker under the AC.

“Fuckin’ hell” was all he said. You dared to look up. “Fuck,” he continued, “Fuckin’ . . . get over’ere. Just fuckin’ dyin’ t’ get my hands on you.”

You dropped your clothes on the floor, closing the few steps between you quickly before falling forward into his grasp. You weren’t sure if you were ready for what this desperate, mountain of a man was about to unleash on you, but fuck did it excite you. Once he had you between his legs, gloved hands scraping up your back and around your waist, testing his fingers as he held you, but he didn’t do anything but look. He stared at you like you were made of glass. 

You stared at him, too. You hadn’t been this close since he’d pinned you on the first day, and you were pretty sure you’d been half-concussed then. You could see where he had eye black painted carefully around his eyes to fill the holes in his mask. You could see his long eyelashes, clumped together with that same oily black paint. It made the whites of his eyes stand out vibrantly. His large dark irises darted back and forth over your chest. You wondered what he was planning, what he was thinking. 

He didn’t leave you wondering for long. He pressed you forward, mouthing at your nipple through the mask. You let out a short whine, pussy clenching as his large hands kneaded at your waist. The feeling was like nothing you’d felt before. The fabric between you muted the translation between his actions and your pleasure. You could feel how eagerly he bit and sucked at you, but you were denied half of it. It made you dig your fingers into his shoulders in frustration.

“Want more?” he said haggardly, pulling off of you. He tugged at your belt, not waiting for an answer. “Then get these off.”

You did your best to undo your belt and pants despite your shaking and moaning while he dove back in, working harder at your other nipple. Once you’d dropped your pants down to your ankles he pulled you forward to step out of them, wedging you into the spread of his legs. You toed out of your shoes and then he kicked everything behind you, your boots banging loudly against the steel desk. You heard papers shift and fall, but couldn’t find a reason to care. He held you, running his gloved hands over your exposed skin while you shivered in font of him in nothing but your panties. 

He palmed his cock again before fumbling around to find his belt. You heard him click it open, the metal jangling as it went slack. 

“On your knees,” he ordered breathlessly. “Wan’ see what that little mouth can do with this.” 

You complied immediately, viciously curious as to what he was packing. If the tent in his pants was any indication, you had your work cut out for you. He popped open the button of his fly and then slowly unzipped. You couldn’t see anymore through his briefs than you had in his pants, but still, you leaned forward. You curled your hands on your knees, biting your lip, willing him to give you permission. 

“Go ahead,” he said giving himself one lazy, squeezing pump.

You put your hands on his inner thighs, right above his knees, testing the waters. When he didn’t say anything, you slid your hands up his legs, a soft, swishing sound following. You stopped at his crotch, pulling yourself forward before tentatively, gently, smoothing up his clothed cock. 

He groaned, covering your hand with his, forcing you to grip his girth. Your thumb just barely met your ring finger. 

“Fuckin’-” was all he could get out before pulling your hand off. 

He used his other hand to pull his dick out before pressing your hand to his hard, burning length. You gave him another pump, feeling how the skin stretched beneath your hand, then squeezing to feel how goddamn rigid he was. The tip of his cock made your mouth water. 

It was crazy. On you knees in front of him like this, you weren’t a competent soldier, a woman who held herself with poise and respect in front of her colleagues. He wasn’t an expertly trained, battle-hardened, special operative of the British Army. You were both human. Both hungry. 

You tipped his cock toward you to lap at the underside of the head. You met his eyes just as you closed your mouth around him, sucking the salt from his slit. He shut his eyes with a groan, letting his head fall back for a moment as he reached his hand up to grip at your skull. He opened his eyes to watch as he slowly bobbed your head down his cock. 

He gripped himself at the base, forcing your mouth to take him until you met his fingers. You did. Just barely, gagging as his head slid against the roof of your mouth to the soft palate at the back of your throat. He didn’t let you pull back. Instead, he traced the inside of your lips with his thumb, drool coating his black gloves.

“Lookit’ that,” he groaned as your throat pulsed and burned around him. “Little thing takes it all s’fuckin’ well.”

He let go of your head, letting you pull off of his cock. You stared at it with heavy eyes as your head spun from lack of oxygen, it glistened with your spit in the harsh light. He gave himself another languid stroke, watching you force air into your lungs while you sat practically naked on the floor between his knees. 

“Think you can take it in that little cunt a’yours like that?” he asked, stopping his stroke at the head.

You bit your bottom lip as you looked up at him. You gave him a slow nod. Any fear or paranoia you had before was long evaporated. You were wet, horny, needy. You needed him to give you something, and if he was going to give you a choice, you could do worse than getting railed until you couldn’t remember your name. You clenched, hands clawing at your thighs, as you watched him pump another stroke up that monster cock of his in front of your face before grunting out his order.

“Get up then. Against the desk.”

You scrambled up to your feet. He followed you, rising quickly from his chair to tower over you, pressing you backwards into the steel desk. Your hands reached out for purchase as he roughly gripped your thighs, throwing you on top of Price’s paper-laden desk. Folders and binders clattered to the floor, papers swirling across the tile as he shoved you down, ass right on the edge. 

He stood between your legs, hips flush to yours, his cock laying across your standard issue panties like a weapon. He pressed the weight of it against your skin with a groan, head spreading precum into your stomach. Quicker than you realized, he reached behind his back, coming back with a knife. It was almost invisible palmed in his large hand, only the tip of the blade winked from the tip of his thumb. With two quick flicks, he cut up the side of your underwear. He slid the knife back to wherever he had taken it from, like it was the most normal thing in the world, before pulling the now useless scrap of fabric from between the press of your bodies. 

He held the scrap of fabric in his hand for a minute, investigating it under the light before tossing it to the floor.

“Really are beggin’ for it, eh?” He said sliding his cock up the seam of your pussy. His easy, fluid movements as he rocked against you answered for you. “Fuckin’ wet just from that?”

You nodded, lacing your legs around his hips, trying to pull him closer. He pressed his hand into your stomach in response, squishing you against the desk hard enough to make you squirm. He pulled away enough to notch the head of his cock at your entrance.

“Needy little fuckin’ thing,” he said with a punch of his hips, nails biting into the soft skin of your stomach as his tip danced perilously on the edge of holding inside you. “Want it so fuckin’ bad? Want this inside y’?” 

He took himself in hand and watched as he pushed inside. You both groaned. You let your head fall against the desk with a dull thunk, eyes shut and legs shaking as he pushed deeper and deeper inside your slick hole. 

“Fuck.” He was breathless for the first time since you had met him. “Fuck are y’ tight. So fuckin’ small. Even gonna fit it all?” He rambled to himself as he took hold of your hips and watched himself fuck slowly in and out of you; hypnotized by the clutch of your greedy pussy pulling him in, resisting as he pulled out. 

You let out a small cry of frustration, tears pricking around your eyes. He was big, but that wasn’t the problem. You had taken your share of dick, you could take him. It was killing you how slow he was. He was lost in his own world, watching his cock slid in and out of you as you lay there silently begging for him to just fuck you already. 

“Quiet,” he whispered with a half-hearted harshness, hand trailing down to your pussy. 

You almost jumped as he began to rub a wide circle around your clit. Your slick barely dulled the rough texture of his glove. You shuddered, clenching around him, whining as he found a rhythm with his thumb and cock. Your clench punched the breath out of him. He fell over you, bracing himself with his arm. You could hear the hollow sound of his breaths behind his mask as he gave up trying to pump into your vice of a pussy. 

He nuzzled the cold plastic of his mask against your ear. “Not gonna’ last long doin’ shit like that,” he grumbled. He held himself up, pulling your face to look at him with a hand under your jaw. “Wha’d’y want?” 

You stared back at him with confusion. 

“Where d’y want it?” he clarified.

If you had a brain cell still functioning, you would have told him to pull out. It was the safer of the options he was giving you. 

But you didn’t. You moaned out, “Fuck. Inside me. Please,” like the absolute whore you had become once he’d whipped his cock out. 

Not one to question, apparently, Ghost was back in position the moment he heard you. He pulled your hips back to meet his, cock punching all the way in until you winced as the head hit your cervix. He took hold of one of your legs, hand running up the length of it, positioning it until it lay unfolded up his chest. He gripped his fingers around your ankle, starting at it as his other hand squeezed your waist.

“Lookit, fuck. Lookit that,” he said as he pistoned into you. You cut off the loud moan that he punched out of you. The change in angle was . . god it was like nothing you’d had before.  

“Like that?” he said, letting your foot dangle on his shoulder while he held your waist with both hands, driving into you mercilessly. 

If you could have answered, you would have spoke truthfully. You were sure. You would have moaned about how good it was, how he was so big and filled you so well. As it was, his powerful thrusts jarred you against the cool metal of the desk too much to do anything more than moan and hold on as more papers flooded the floor. 

“Got y’self off at all this week?” he asked, panting breathlessly.

You shook your head, a small whine of anticipation falling form your lips at the thought.

“Gonna nut just thinkin’ about you cummin’ on my cock,” he mumbled, trailing his hand back to your clit.

You let out a sad whine, bucking into his thrust as he touched you. You were close. So fucking close.

He began to circle your clit like before, finding that delicious rhythm with the pound of his hips that pulled you higher and higher, tighter and tighter, until dazzling sparks lit up your core. You reeled back with a cry, clenching his cock, arching as he worked you through your peak. 

His hand ripped away from you sooner than you’d like. He fell over you, both hands biting into the skin of your hips as he pounded into you as your pussy pulsed, any semblance of cadence or love-making gone as he chased his own high. You dug your fingers into his t shirt. The sweat drenched fabric was almost too slippery to hold on to. 

“Fuck! Too fuckin’ hot ‘n, fuck, tight. Fuck, ‘m gonna-” His weak series of sighs and groans, followed by the distinct feeling of his cock flaring inside you told you what he couldn’t.

He lay over you for a moment, panting as you both caught your breaths. You wondered if he was also stewing in the monumental realization of what the fuck you had both just done. You’d just broken so many rules. So much was at stake. He’d just cum inside a subordinate on his bosses desk, and you didn’t work for the same country. This was going to be a mess. You were sure of it. 

He pulled away from you, pulling himself out with a smothered whine. You crossed your hands over your middle as you watch him zip back up and adjust his mask. It was wild how he was back to normal within seconds. You half expected him to walk out the door and just leave you here like this. At least all of your clothes were here, save your sliced up panties. 

But he didn’t leave. He held out a hand to you, only letting you stare at it dumbly for a minute before he flicked his fingers toward himself, urging you to act. You took his hand and he pulled you up easily. He even let you slump against him after you sat up. You’d forgotten how tired a good lay made you.

Again, you expected him to leave you now that you were conscious and able to dress yourself, maybe leave you with a heavy warning (read: threat) to not talk about this. As you tried to shuffle to the side to try and get off the desk, he stopped you. His hands gripped both of your shoulders suddenly.

“The fuck y’ doin’?” he said, forcing you back in front of him.  

“Getting . . . dressed?” you answered with unease. 

“Funny,” he said with a single, dry, laugh. “You’re a funny lil’ thing, too.”

His hands skimmed down your sides before quickly seizing you by the hips, throwing you over his shoulder like a backpack. You gasped as your stomach landed on his solid shoulder, punching the air from your lungs.

“Think we’re done already?” he said, turning around. 

You watched as the desk, and the messy you had made on and around it, including your scattered clothing, circled back into view, then slipped away. He palmed a whole cheek of your ass in one hand, spreading you open enough for cold air to chill your leaking core, as he stalked toward the door. He probed a finger into your pussy, swirling the cum you felt leaking out across your folds. 

“Got a whole day off, y’know,” he said matter-of-factly as he opened the door. Completely ignoring that he had a naked woman slung over his shoulder like a caveman. “Think we should go back to mine. Relax. See what else that little cunt’ve yours can take.”

[starry-bi-sky]

mmmmmm read a disciple shen yuan/shizun luo binghe fanfic about two days ago where the first chapter was the Immortal Conference arc, and SQQ was the one who had to be pushed into the abyss (he was still the villain) except Luo Binghe was refusing and was like, lowkey losing his mind about SQQ being so close to the edge. SQQ ended up having to be the one to fall in himself because of the system's punishment system. The rest of the fic is leading up to that moment. But like, MMM i've been obsessively thinking about that first chapter for DAYS ever since.

now i've been in svsss for a grand total of *checks watch* a week. but god obsessed with that. I want to write/read a fic where disciple SQQ goes a little nuts down there. Like keep all of the things that make SQQ, SQQ, but just. Throw in a little bit more trauma in there. A little bit of a mental break. Let him go a little nuts as a treat. Just a tad unhinged. I wanna see him go, just a little, "god fuck it, i've tried so hard to change this shitty story's outcome and it feels like everything i've done has been for nothing. I'm going to die in this world no matter what I do, I've been doomed from the start, so might as well die the way I want to." and he just, breaks a little! Under all the stress.

He still retains the traits that makes shen yuan, shen yuan, like his overwhelming kindness. But he's just! yk. A little less patient. Paranoid. Jumpy. Colder. A little more aloof and closed off. A little more Shen Jiu. He's no asshole child abuser, but he was a Number One Hater in his past life and he's leaning into that old habit a little more now.

(On a totally coincidental not-at-all related note, there's not enough SJ-and-SY-are-the-same-people fics out there that i've found. This is totally unrelated...)

The Endless Abyss turns the mind into an over-sharpened blade, and SQQ is both fascinated and perhaps a little excited to explore a place that doesn't have a lot of info on it in the mortal realm, but still terrified out of his mind. And he's no Luo Binghe, he doesn't have the sheer brute strength and power to just bulldoze his way through, so he has to be a lot more sneaky and cunning if he wants to survive.

The fic itself role-swapped LBH and SQQ so that SQQ was the half-demon (which lowkey fucks) and LBH the human, but I'm equally-if-not-more obsessed with the idea that LBH remains the half-heavenly demon and SQQ the human. If only because I keep thinking about SQQ befriending some demons (particularly and specifically a group of succubi) and they grow very attached to this Human Cultivator so through magic plot stuff they create some kind of seal/illusion/talisman that makes SQQ appear as a demon because a human cultivator in the endless abyss may as well be the equivalent of putting a giant neon target on your back.

And iirc Shen Jiu was taught demonic cultivation by that one guy(?? i've only been here a week so im not caught up in ALL of the lore yet) so that could totally happen here.

(On the other end of the realms, poor Shizun Luo Binghe is just. losing his fucking mind over losing his most precious and beloved disciple. About .5 seconds from burning down the peaks himself. somebody sedate him.)

The Endless Abyss sucks and SQQ is having a really terrible time and can feel himself going lowkey mad, but also holy shit look at all this WORLD-BUILDING. look at all this flora and fauna, and oh if he had the equipment for it he'd be writing all of this down. ALL OF IT. He was kinda-sorta-already planning on never leaving the Abyss as some sort of fucked up self-exile and self-preservation thing, but now he might? actually just?? never leave if he can help it, like he lowkey likes it down here.

anyways the next time anyone ever sees SQQ again he's got hair so long its almost touching the ground and he's either in rags and half-feral or he's been completely dolled up by his adoptive succubi sisters and still about three seconds from biting anyone who tries to touch him. (he's also lowkey trying to book it back down to the abyss even if he has desperately missed all of his friends and shizun)

[lonelycowgirls]

Tongue-Tied

I'm ovulating and I'll give no other explanation.

Thank you for your time.

Warnings: smut | harry in barcelona Word Count: 1.9k

Angel: You better get your man, Stell

Angel: Sent 1 image

Looking to the side at her phone as she washed the dishes and cooking utensils she’d used to make up her breakfast, Stella’s brow furrowed, her belly flipping wondering what he’d done now. He was three shows off completing Love on Tour and the gravity of tour being over was starting to hit home for both of them, especially Harry. The result; him growing more and more uninhibited on stage.

She swatted gently at Delilah who was perched on the only clean tea towel in the house - she really needed to catch up on some laundry - and dried her hands on it once the cat had slinked off, heading for the cat flap at the back door. She unlocked her phone and leaned back against the sink to open the text thread she shared with her work friend.

The image wasn’t actually an image, but a GIF. A moving image of her partner playing guitar, her eyes widening as she watched him lean down to enact the motion of playing the strings with his tongue. She watched it repeat on a loop a few times and chuckled dryly to herself. This man was becoming unhinged.

Stella: Now where have I seen that action before…?🤔 Angel: Oooooh get it girl!!!👏🏾👏🏾

Stella laughed to herself again and opened up her TikTok. Her For You page often had a lot of Harry on it, because that was the content she found herself liking and sharing. Whether it be a sweet fan interaction she would share with Anne or a video of Harry tripping or stumbling she would have a giggle over with Gemma and Dolly.

As she scrolled, her feed was jam-packed with content surrounding Harry at his Barcelona date. This wasn’t uncommon, as it was obviously the most recent concert. But the focus was a little abnormal. Emphasis on the ab... People were going feral over Harry’s body and she couldn’t help but smirk to herself. He did look damn good. She often complimented him on his newly buffed-up physique, but she didn’t want to stroke his ego too much. That got enough stroking every time he galloped on stage.

This was maybe a little different though. She thought to herself - she’d probably not seen him look or act this sexy since the first One Direction stadium tour. Back when Harry’s hair was the longest it ever got to and he made it everyone’s problem.

She tapped on the Clock app on her phone to check the World Clock for the time in Barcelona. It was just gone 9am in London, making it around 10am where he was. She wasn’t sure if he’d still be sleeping or training or out sightseeing, but she tapped on the FaceTime icon anyway.

Walking through to the living room as her phone dialled his, she glanced out of the window and rolled her eyes at the rain pelting the glass. It was so unfair how he got to be in the sunshine while she was practically engulfed in a typhoon. Bloody England. She glanced down at her phone again when the little chime alerted her that he had answered and connected.

His face filled the screen, a glowing orb of yellow sunlight behind him surrounded by blue sky. His bare shoulders and the trim of a parasol peaking into the frame indicated that he was by the pool or on the beach. Bastard.

“Oh my God, look at that weather.” Stella groaned, collapsing back on the sofa with a flop. He chuckled and moved his sunglasses to sit on top of his head.

“Good morning to you too.” He replied, resting back against the sun lounger and squinting at the screen. “To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing your beautiful face so early?”

“Oh, nothing much, just getting digitally assaulted with pictures and videos of you whoring yourself out for thousands of people. The usual.” Harry laughed as she rolled her eyes at him.

“What do you mean?” He questioned loudly around a smirk.

“You know, I haven’t seen that tongue move like that in a while.” She mumbled, now displaying her own smirk.

“Oh,” Harry chuckled, this time running a hand down his face as he remembered his actions and finally registered what she was talking about. “God, I dunno what comes over me.” He said smiling, dimples on full display and cheeks slightly tinted in a blush.

“Well, I hope it comes over you again when we go to Italy next week…” She said softly, almost certain he wasn’t alone - he never was. He smirked and lifted an arm to rest over his head on the lounger. She could see the muscle in his biceps move under his skin with the motion, the tattoos rippling and causing her to drop her head back against the sofa. She really wished he was there, now.

“Yeah? Would you like that, Stell?” She nodded and he sighed, folding his lips into his mouth and furrowing his brow. He eyed her neck as her head leaned back against the back of the sofa and watched her long lashes blink over her hooded eyes. He couldn’t wait to have her in his favourite place, her tanned skin smooth under his palms, couldn’t wait to feel her pulse under his fingers as he wrapped them around her throat. “Want me to do the same on your little clit?”

Her lids closed as she inhaled and smiled with a nod, teeth digging into her bottom lip. Suddenly, her expression changed to one of pain as she raised from her position on the sofa. “Shit, H I need to go get ready.”

“For what?”

“I’m meeting your sister for yoga in like half an hour.”

“Ah great, I needed someone to say something to help me get rid of this tent in my trunks. Mentioning my sister always does the trick.” He said sarcastically with a thumbs up to the camera.

“Aw, you got a stiffy for me? Let’s see.” Harry rolled his eyes and brought the camera down to his shorts. Barely there but noticeable if pointed out, a slight bump was peaking up from his black Nike swimming trunks. He swiftly brought the camera back up to his face, Stella beamed at him on the other side. “I’ve still got it.” She said with a wink.

“Always have, always will.” He said sincerely and she bristled, feeling a warmth spread through her at the look in his kind eyes. “Come on Stell, let me help you before you go.”

“Help me what?” She said, a brow arched knowingly, she knew what he was up to.

“You know what. Let me give you a good one, so I know you’re thinking of me when you’re in your downward dog.” She snorted, looking away and then looking back at him.

“Alright fine, but you need to put your AirPods on or something.” She conditioned, not wanting Brad or Mitch or anyone who may be around him to hear her through the phone.

“Don’t worry, I’m on a patch of free beds, behind some palm trees. There’s hardly anyone here and Brad’s in the pool.” She nodded and waited for his instructions. “Take your bottoms off, baby.”

She dutifully did as he said, sliding her pyjama shorts off so that she was bare, perching a leg up on the coffee table so that she was open to herself.

“Give your fingers a lick, three of them.” She bit her lip and nodded again, making sure to angle her phone at her face as she sunk further into the cushions of the sofa. She brought her fingers up to lick a long stripe up the surface of them, not waiting for him to tell her what to do next and bringing them to start rubbing circles into her clit. She sighed at the feeling of her fingers getting wetter and wetter with the way she was already so turned on.

“Eager aren’t we?” Harry smirked, wanting to rut his hips into the air but restraining himself. “A girl who always knows what she wants.” Stella’s brows knitted in the middle as a ripple of pleasure coursed through her. “Keep rubbing that pretty clit, baby, that’s it. Is it all swollen?” She nodded, an audible moan quietly escaping her. “For me?”

“Yes, Harry. Watching you lick that guitar… fuckin’ hell.” She sighed, shaking her head, almost in disbelief.

“Yeah? Did that do it for you, baby?” She nodded and moaned as her lips folded into her mouth. Picking up the pace of the circular motions on her clit. “Want my tongue working on you like that?” She nodded, swearing and looking down at where her hips had begun to swirl along with her fingers, complimenting her wrist's motions. Harry had to see. “Show me, Stell.” He said, low and gruff.

She brought the camera down, angling it so her full body was in view, her vest ridden up to just below her boobs, her naked bottom half bucking and twisting in the air. Harry nearly doubled over.

“Fuck me. You’re everything.” He groaned, bringing a hand to his forehead and closing his eyes tight. Trying to control his hips and body’s reaction to her stunning image. “Keep going, baby, good girl. Can’t wait to have you in my bed again. Gonna lock us in our villa and make you scream.”

Stella’s moans became louder and louder as she chased her high. “Yeah, that’s it, get yourself there, Stell, come on.” She panted and groaned as she brought the three fingers he’d suggested into her slick hole, pumping just right, getting closer and closer. “You’re fucking beautiful, my God, wish I was fucking there.” Arching up, Harry’s view was almost non-existent as she writhed, the phone in her hand no longer her priority. “I’ll be on my knees for you, soon as I walk through the door.”

“Fuck, I’m gonna come.” She gasped, her fingers now rubbing ruthlessly across her clit, toes curling and stretching.

“Give it up, Stell.” With that, the phone was dropped. Stella’s fingers dug into the softness of the sofa as she squealed and panted, writhing, her other hand not relenting on her pussy. Harry waited patiently, still giving her appreciative comments of how good she was, how gorgeous she was, how he loved her so much. Her hips finally found their place again on the edge of the sofa as she collapsed back down to Earth. Catching her breath, she picked up her phone again to see him smiling softly at her, only before laughing at her red cheeks and messed up hair. “Enjoy that, babe?”

She giggled back, blowing at a strand of hair that had fallen into her face. The familiar feeling of a post-orgasm making her glow from within. “Mhm, feeling good, baby.” She breathed, completely blissed out. She wanted to kiss him so bad, almost ready to climb through the phone to get to him. “Oh, shit.” Stella laughed slightly, Harry’s brow furrowed at the change of pace. “Gem’s just text me. She’s just left. I’ve gotta go, Gorgeous. Love you.”

“Alright, Stell,” Harry said, sitting up in his lounger, placing a foot on either side of the bed in a straddle. His full chest and upper body now visible, making her belly flip once more. “Good job I came in my shorts, knew you wouldn’t wanna return the favour.” He shook his head, playfully tutting in disappointment.

“Aw, you poor thing.” Stella pouted, before giggling and raising from the sofa, running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame it. “Have a good time cleaning up!” She joked, before hanging up and trotting up the stairs. Her phone pinged almost instantaneously.

Harry: Glad I could be of service 🫡

Stella: Don’t worry, I’ll show you my downward dog later 😉

~~~

That was fun.

Nel xo

P.s. you can read the rest of the pieces from this universe here.